


Leave My Love Between the Stars

by Nokomis



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-03-29
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:50:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nokomis/pseuds/Nokomis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt revenge-seduces Jesse St. James. The glee club helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Lielabell and Bellona Black for the beta! This takes place after the season one finale.

It’s all Lindsey Lohan’s fault, really.

Kurt’s way of dealing with the loss at Regionals is to settle in his favorite chair with the current issue of Italian Vogue, judging the summer collections and wishing desperately for a fast-forward button on _life_ so that he can be a fabulous urban fashionista already, all while watching his favorite movies.

It’s halfway through _Mean Girls_ when he looks up at the screen and realizes that Jesse St. James and Vocal Adrenaline are clearly Regina George and the Plastics, inhuman perfection whose sole mission in life is to destroy others while at the same time inspiring awe.

“They need a Cady Heron to take them down from the inside,” Kurt muses, flipping a page and admiring Gaultier’s magnificent use of hats. “Except without all the accidental converting to the side of evil and the resulting drama.” 

It’s a thought that festers as he watches the rest of the movie. He can’t help but to remember how he lost any chance whatsoever to get a solo after Jesse showed up on his mission of evil, all the more appalling because it was so meaningless to the robot himself.

The worst part of losing, Kurt thinks, is that they’d all been pretty sure then that they’d win Regionals. No one would admit it, not out loud, but they all thought they were pretty hot shit, and that their passion would win the judge’s hearts in face of such soulless, robotic perfection as Vocal Adrenaline. That would have been the perfect revenge, proving that they’re collectively better than St. James and his rakish good looks and Broadway potential.

But somehow in the midst of a Journey lovefest Kurt had forgotten the most basic fact of his – really, all of their – existence: nothing ever works out the way you dream it.

But Kurt remembers Jesse St James, and the way he’d grinned when his stupid, already-charmed team continued their charmed lives while New Directions had nothing. He knows he can’t let it slide. And Kurt knows that he’s the perfect Cady Heron. 

He’s not Rachel’s biggest fan – Rachel is pretty much on her own in that regard, thanks to her sandpaper personality – but he remembers her face during _Another One Bites the Dust_ and knows that this is the best of all possible revenges.

*

Kurt intends to keep his plan to himself, which lasts all of three hours before he dials Mercedes’ number. 

“I need a plan of seduction,” he says as soon as she answers.

There’s a pause.

“Honey, I thought the Finn thing had already crashed and burned.” She sounds very concerned, like she thinks he might be planning on showing up in Finn’s bed wearing only fishnets and heels a la Gaga. Not that Kurt has considered such a course of action, especially not after things between his father and Finn had warmed up enough that they’re all living together again.

“Not _Finn_ ,” Kurt says. “Honestly, he’s practically my _brother_.”

Mercedes makes one of her famous skeptical sounds. She manages to imply that Kurt is, in fact, that desperate and that she is completely justified in assuming the worst of him, all in one guttural sound. 

“Really!” Kurt’s voice raises in pitch. “This is a far grander scheme than my own personal satisfaction. This, my dove, is _revenge_.”

“I’m listening,” Mercedes says.

*

“So when you said you were bringing friends, I thought you meant, you know, _friends_ ,” Kurt tells Mercedes.

“I did,” Mercedes hisses back.

Kurt looks back at his foyer. Santana Lopez is still standing there, hand on a Cheerios-uniform clad hip, surveying the room with a undisguised look of disgust on her face.

“I thought you meant _Tina_ ,” he replies. Brittany is milling around, looking her usual level of vaguely lost, even though she’s been to Kurt’s house plenty of times.

Santana rolls her eyes. “Like she’d be any help.”

“Tina has valid ideas,” Kurt says, even though he can’t think of anything Tina could have learned from dating Artie, which mainly seems to consist of holding hands and making goo-goo eyes.

“Look, Santana has the most expertise in the field of infiltration and seduction,” Mercedes says. “We’re going to have to pull out the big guns to make this work.”

Kurt is affronted. “I could make this work on my own, thank you,” he sniffs.

“Uh-huh,” Mercedes immediately answers.

“I’m doing you a _favor_ ,” Santana says.

Kurt narrows his eyes. “Why? You don’t do favors. You get favors done for you, and never repay them.”

“Look, Mercedes mentioned your little plan to Quinn, who told me, and I decided that you could use an expert. Someone, for instance, not in possession of a V-card,” Santana says snidely. “I’m just being altruistic.”

Santana Lopez has never been altruistic a day in her life. Kurt turns to Brittany. “And you?”

“I like love stories,” she says with a shrug.

Kurt sighs. “Fine, let’s go downstairs.” He has enough common sense to know when Santana’s trying to screw him over, at the very least. And it’s true, she’s an expert in seduction, unlike Kurt, whose attempts to date have resulted in his intended basically _becoming his brother_.

Once inside Kurt’s room Santana settles herself down comfortably in his favorite chair. She looks less disgusted now that there are no mounted deer heads in sight – his father’s lamentable addition to the décor. “So what are we working with?”

Kurt isn’t sure how to answer that question.

Santana looks aggrieved. “Look, how much experience _do_ you have?”

Kurt stares at his loafers sullenly. “I kissed a girl and I didn’t like it.”

Brittany offers helpfully, “You have baby hands.”

“Oh god,” Mercedes sighs.

Santana looks him up and down. Kurt shifts uncomfortably. She sighs. “I wonder how much it would take to get Puck to give you make-out lessons.”

Kurt’s horror is palpable. It’s entirely plausible that his horror could be _seen from space._ “No.”

Mercedes looks thoughtful. “We’ll keep that in mind, if Jesse doesn’t seem to be taking the virginal boy-next-door bait.”

Santana is looking at him in a way that makes him very, very uncomfortable. “We could put him in a lot of white. Emphasize his innocence. Boys love that shit.”

“I don’t need to be told what boys like,” Kurt reminds them tersely. “I am a boy! I know exactly what we like.”

It’s impossible to hate Brittany, even when she’s laughing at you. Kurt gives them all the stink-eye, but Santana is the reigning queen of stink-eye, and Mercedes gained an annoying immunity to it sometime around the time she had decided that dating Puck was an acceptable life decision.

“Oh, cupcake,” Mercedes says, patting his arm. “If that was true, you wouldn’t need sex coaches.”

“I didn’t ask for sex coaches,” Kurt grinds out, but the sting to his masculinity is already fading. He’s never really had guy friends, after all. Guys in this Podunk town avoid him like they could catch gay cooties. He really, really wishes he’d been born, well, anywhere other than Ohio. 

“Is Jessie even gay?” Brittany asks.

Mercedes shrugs. “He has pretty fabulous hair.”

Kurt raises his eyebrow at her.

Santana says, “He dated _Rachel Berry._ For more than a _week_. No one that pretty would be that desperate unless he was secretly into dudes. She has man shoulders.”

“I think you all have very strange ideas about what makes someone gay,” Kurt tells them all. Really, it explains the whole windshield thing. 

“Santana says it’s only gay if you give each other flowers,” Brittany says. “Maybe you could buy him a flower. Or a scarf.”

“I don’t want insight into you two’s weird thing,” Mercedes announces. Santana gives her the stink-eye. Kurt wants to ask her how it never loses its power, but the stink-eye is keeping him at bay. “Kurt, do you think Jesse St. James will be into you?”

Kurt smoothes down his blouse and says, “Of course he will. He has _eyes_.”

Regaining his confidence is the only way he’ll make it through this. Mercedes is going _down_ for this. Seriously. Next time they go shopping, he’s going to tell her that she looks fabulous in _bubble skirts_. 

Santana grins at him, and it’s like a wolf baring fangs. Kurt tries to keep up the confidence, even though he’s been in Cheerios long enough to know how very evil Santana can be. “I think this will work,” she says, and it’s so far from what Kurt expected that it takes a moment for the fact that Santana Lopez has sided with him to settle itself into his brain.

“I’ll make you a list,” Brittany says brightly. Kurt doesn’t have the heart to turn it down, especially since he doesn’t know what sort of list she’s talking about.

Mercedes looks unbearably smug, and Kurt decides that convincing her to buy a top in a particularly horrific shade of mustard is completely acceptable revenge. 

He’s getting to be an expert in revenge, after all.

*

Kurt embarks on Phase One a week later, wearing an outfit that Santana approved as looking particularly virginal. He isn’t particularly fond of the fact that they’re using his inexperience as a cornerstone in the seduction plan, as it seems to him counter-intuitive, but he has to admit that Mercedes was right when she recruited the two most experienced girls in school as his sex coaches.

He waits, fiddling nervously with the tulle bow around his neck and the buttons on the radio, even though it isn’t on. 

Jesse St James appears right on schedule. Kurt puts on his most derisive look and waits.

Jesse slides into the car, inspects himself in the mirror, and looks over. He doesn’t even startle when he realizes he’s not alone in his car. Kurt thinks he really might be some fancy robotics experiment set upon the high school show choir world for the sole purpose of _ruining lives_.

“St. James,” Kurt says icily. 

“Gay kid from Lima,” Jesse says, equally icy.

“I’ve heard worse,” Kurt says evenly. “I’m not here for the reason you think.”

“You aren’t here on behalf of your club of losers whose preoccupation with their miserable lives distracted them from putting together a sufficiently complexly orchestrated number for Regionals and thus cost you the only sad chance at glory you’ll ever have?” Jesse raises an eyebrow.

Kurt looks down demurely, like Santana had taught him. “No. Not quite.”

“Then revenge for breaking Rachel Berry’s startlingly fragile heart?” There’s almost a touch of hopefulness in Jesse’s voice. It’s discomforting to hear emotion coming from him. From Kurt’s observations, he only emotes when singing.

“I came to thank you for that, actually,” Kurt says, and gets out of Jesse’s car before Jesse has a chance to respond. It’s sunny and warm out, and he puts just a bit of twist in his hips, as per Brittany’s instruction. (“Move like you’re underwater and there are snakes trying to get in your bikini.”)

He climbs into his SUV, sliding on his sunglasses and never looking back at Jesse.

*

Apparently girls’ nights have become a _thing_ , as when he gets home Finn is sitting on the leather couch in the living room with marked discomfort, watching _Deadliest Catch_ with Kurt’s dad.

“There are a bunch of girls in your room,” his dad says. “They kicked Finn out because he wasn’t invited to the slumber party.”

“They said I had to sleep on the couch.” Finn crinkles his brow. Kurt does not find it endearing or adorable. At all. “How come you get a basement full of cheerleaders?”

“I’m a Cheerio, too,” Kurt reminds him. “I won us Nationals, remember?”

Finn clearly doesn’t.

Burt shoos Kurt towards his room. “Enjoy your girl talk, son. I’ll keep Finn company.”

Kurt hurries down the stairs, and is more than a little surprised to see that Quinn has joined Santana, Brittany and Mercedes. They’re grouped around his vanity, trying out his moisturizers. “Finn told me I’m having a slumber party?”

The girls are, in fact, all wearing pajamas, ranging from Mercedes’ classic flannel to Santana’s satin nightie. No wonder Finn seemed so awkward upstairs, if he was thinking about half the Glee girls in his bedroom wearing skimpy clothes.

Kurt settles down in his favorite chair, surveying the girls. “It went well.”

“Did he ask you out?” Brittany asks.

“No,” Kurt says. “I’m going for full-out psychological warfare.”

“Meaning?” Mercedes has that look on her face, the one that implies that she has severe doubts about Kurt’s ability to wage any sort of social warfare.

“Meaning I let him reveal what he believed my motivations to be and subverted them.” Kurt inspects his nails.

Quinn is unimpressed. “Not to say that I doubt you, but… I doubt you.”

“He asked if I was there to avenge Rachel’s broken heart, and I thanked him for breaking it,” Kurt replies. “He is confused about my appearance and subsequent motives. Which means he will be thinking about me.”

Santana nods approvingly. “Did you do the look thing?”

Kurt nods.

Mercedes bursts out with, “We still don’t know if he’s even gay.”

Kurt gives her a dismissive hand-wave. “He’s a robot. They don’t register genders.”

Quinn snorts attractively. Kurt is awed by this achievement.

“So you got your manipulative bitch on,” Mercedes says. “What now?”

“Now, we do a little footwork. Get people around him to mention Kurt around Jesse. Keep Jesse thinking about him until they accidentally run into each other,” Quinn says. 

“That’s the reason we brought you in on this,” Santana says, and they bump fists.

“How will you—“ Kurt begins, but Mercedes cuts him off. 

“Do you really think we aren’t capable of planting a few suggestions into Traitor Boy’s head?” 

“We have wiles,” Brittany adds.

Kurt has lost complete control of the situation, but he feels strangely comforted by having the might of the Cheerios Past and Present behind him. “You all hate Rachel,” he points out.

“So do you,” Quinn retorts.

“Yes, well, I’m the magnanimous sort,” Kurt replies airily. Mercedes snorts.

Santana sighs. “This is lame. Come on, Hummel, you’re going to make us snacks.”

He follows her back up the stairs, her nightie shiny and looking extremely inappropriate as they emerge upstairs. Unfortunately, his dad and Finn are in the kitchen, heating up pizza rolls in the microwave. 

“I’ve told you, those things are disgusting,” Kurt says, curling his lip as he peers inside the microwave at the bubbling greasy mess that will soon be contributing to his father’s future heart attack. “Why aren’t you eating the snacks I got you?”

“Because, son, they taste like rotten cardboard,” Burt replies. He turns to Santana. “Sweetheart, if you stand in front of that fridge any longer Finn is going to horribly embarrass himself.”

Finn manages to turn even redder than he already was, and he hastily retreats. Santana laughs and calls, “Nice to see things haven’t changed, Finnocence!”

Kurt doesn’t want to know. He is no longer desperately in love with Finn, but nights are long and he doesn’t want his fantasies ruined by the knowledge that Finn isn’t a Viking in the sack.

Santana has amassed a pile of ice cream and helps herself to a bag of chips, hopping up on the counter and munching thoughtfully. “Don’t bring up the baby to Quinn,” she says sternly.

“I know that,” Kurt says. “Mercedes is my best friend, and Quinn’s been living with her.”

“Yes, but you often say cruel things. Possibly without even meaning to, though that would lower you in my book, because I can respect a bitch,” Santana replies.

“He is a total bitch,” Burt agrees. 

“Dad!”

“Last week you hid all my flannel shirts,” Burt points out calmly. He pulls the cardboard tray of pizza rolls out of the microwave, hissing and sucking on his finger when it comes in contact with the escaping pizza ooze.

“They’re not only hideous but seasonally inappropriate!” Kurt can put up with a lot, but _seriously._

Santana snickers.

Kurt says, “Don’t think you’re any better, Miss Horrific Polyester Blend Nightie.”

“This,” Santana replies, motioning towards her outfit, “isn’t intended for you, sweetheart.”

Screw it, it doesn’t matter if he proves their bitch theory correct. 

“Brittany does like cheap things,” he agrees.

Burt gathers up his pizza rolls. “Don’t get into any catfights, kids,” he says as he heads back to the living room.

Santana rolls her eyes and hops off the counter. “Carry the food,” she instructs as she heads back down to the basement.

*

Kurt didn’t doubt the abilities of the girls, but it still comes as a surprise when he receives a text from Jesse. _This is Jesse St. James. I have interest in your motivation._

“What does that even _mean_?” he demands. 

Tina squints at the phone. “Maybe he malfunctioned.”

Artie shook his head. “Too grammatical for that. Maybe he’s planning on future investment in, um, Kurt Hummel Enterprises. Or else he wants to hit dat.”

“Well, let’s hope it’s the latter,” Kurt says. He types out, _Oh, honey, you have no idea_ , and hits send quickly. “I want to get this plan on the fast track.”

“What if he doesn’t fall for you? How will we crush his heart?” Tina fiddles with her brooch, then continues, “I mean, he didn’t let the Rachel thing affect him. What if this isn’t any different?”

Kurt looks blankly at her. “But, unlike Rachel, I am not an acquired taste. I am like fine wine.”

He receives several skeptical looks.

“Kurt, your jacket has feathers on it,” Artie says, as though that means anything. 

“Fine. Wine,” Kurt grits out and glares until everyone agrees with him.

*

Kurt is thumbing through the most recent Vogue when Finn comes lumbering down the steps.

“Um,” Finn says. “Jesse St. James is at the door.”

“Oh, goodie,” Kurt replies, setting down his magazine carefully, so as to not to crumple any pages. 

“Isn’t he our arch nemesis?” Finn asks. He’s been on a comic book movie kick that Kurt has been doing his level best to ignore, though it isn’t completely invalid if they introduced Finn to multi-syllabic words.

“I was never battling for Rachel Berry’s affection,” Kurt replies coolly. He’s fond of Finn, even though the fires of passion have abated, but telling him about the plan is strictly out of the picture. For one thing, Finn would probably _tell_ Jesse about it. Boy isn’t great at being subtle, not like Kurt. Kurt is cunning. 

Finn sighs. “I know that, Kurt. Just, I thought you wanted to get revenge on him as much as the rest of the guys. I guess I was wrong.”

Kurt feels a pang of unwanted and unwarranted guilt but sweeps grandly past Finn on the way upstairs anyway. Jesse St James is standing in the foyer, hands in his pockets, looking intently at the coat rack, which, given the summery temperatures outside, is bare and completely uninteresting.

“Greetings,” Kurt says. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

Jesse smirks. “I think you know.”

Kurt opens his mouth to say something coy, but the words are stopped by the very warm presence of Jesse’s lips against his own.

“Mmmph!” Kurt exclaims awkwardly, given the liplock he’s a part of.

Jesse’s hand curls around the back of his neck, tangling lightly into his hair, and Kurt’s eyes flutter shut. It’s a nice enough kiss, but Kurt is too startled to properly enjoy it.

Jesse breaks the kiss, but stays close, hand large and warm against Kurt’s nape. He smirks. “I knew you were after my rakish good looks.”

“I don’t like rakes,” Kurt says immediately, “nor rogues, scoundrels or any other kind of handsome, talented, sexy sort of man who shows up at ladies’ doors and kisses them senseless.”

Jesse breaks into a full-out grin. “Senseless, huh?”

“No!” Kurt ducks away from Jesse’s hand, stepping back and inadvertently stumbling into the coat rack. He fumbles with it a minute, finally managing to right it, and says, “I wasn’t referring to myself. Just. In general, that sort of thing. You. Out of my house. Shoo. Skedaddle.”

Jesse’s still grinning and he blows Kurt another kiss before turning and walking out the door. Kurt does not watch how his ass fills out his jeans as he walks away. Definitely does not. He finally remembers to slam the door and yell, “And stay out!” when Jesse slides into his Camaro and revs the engine.

Stupid boy.

Kurt charges down to his room, snaps, “Don’t even ask about it,” at Finn, and does his moisture routine three times, until he can no longer feel the ghost of Jesse’s lips on his own.

*

“Spill,” Mercedes says. 

The entire glee club, with the notable exception of Rachel, Finn and Mr. Schue, are in the practice room, despite the fact that summer break is soon and glee is on hiatus until next school year. 

Kurt is more than a little surprised to see the football guys in attendance, and says as much.

“We’ve been recruited,” Matt replies.

“Revenge is my whole deal,” Puck says. “No one plots revenge without the Puckster in on it.”

“How is revenge your whole deal?” Artie wonders aloud. “You’ve always been the bully. You have nothing to avenge.”

“Shut your piehole, wheels. Vengeance needs no questioning,” Puck responds, pointing threateningly.

Mike appears to be doing his level best to hold in laughter. Kurt feels like he’s been dumped in a very wacky alternate reality and, masochistically enough, kind of misses his own reality of strict social order and frequent dumpstering. 

“There’s nothing to spill,” Kurt says primly, returning to the issue at hand.

“Oh yes there is,” Mercedes says. She’s tenacious, Kurt has to give her credit for that, but damn is it an annoying character trait when it’s directed at him. “Santana heard from Puck that Finn said that Jesse showed up at your house the other night.”

“He did,” Kurt replies calmly. “He showed up, kissed me, then I kicked him out.”

“You know the number one rule of seduction is to not kick the seducee out after they kiss you, right?” Santana does not look impressed.

Kurt rolls his eyes. “If the point is just to seduce them, yes. But remember the whole psychological warfare deal? This is going to fuck with his mind. _He’s_ got to think that he’s the seducer, not the other way around.”

Mercedes nods. “We’re kicking it John Hughes style. Gotta get them discombobulated and have the relationship full of overdramatic strife before we go in for the kill.”

If Kurt were the type to fist-bump, that is definitely what he would do with Mercedes right now.

Tina taps her chin thoughtfully. “He showed up at your house, that’s good.”

“How did you kick him out?” Mercedes asks.

“Um,” Kurt says. No need to mention the whole rake thing. Or the coat rack disaster. Or the fact that the word ‘skedaddle’ had burst forth from him. “I said, ‘you, out of my house.’”

Puck yawns loudly. “We’re not here for girl talk.”

“We’re laying the groundwork,” Quinn says.

“Something you know nothing about,” Santana adds with more teasing than meanness.

Puck flips her off with a smile. “You both know how good I am with groundwork, because I am a stud.”

Brittany cuts in with, “I like the ponies with wings.”

Everyone shares a look, but no one is willing to question the Brit-logic. 

“Now is when we need to step up our A-game,” Artie says. “Santana’s got the Cheerios on making sure everyone around Jesse keeps mentioning Kurt-related things.”

“I’ve got this,” Santana says. “Girls?”

“They’re all suddenly huge fans of Kurt Cobain and Hummel figurines,” Mercedes says. “Granted, we had to do some creative googling, and it turns out that Hummel figurines are the most terrifying things on the planet.” She turned to Kurt. “I very much hope you’re not related to whoever is responsible for that horror.”

“Thankfully, no,” Kurt answers.

Brittany tosses her ponytail as she says, “I helped.”

“And now it’s the boys’ turn,” Quinn announces. She turns, sitting primly in her chair, and surveys them. “You need to do something horrible to Vocal Adrenaline.”

“Horrible like dumping slushies down their pants or horrible like hiding dead fish in their bedrooms after banging their moms?” Puck asks.

“I am truly alarmed at how quickly you came up with those options,” Artie says.

“The porta-potty thing doesn’t seem so bad now, huh?” Puck replies, clearly proud of himself.

Quinn glares at Puck. “No mom-banging.”

Puck opens his mouth and Kurt just _knows_ that he’s going to fuck up whatever thing he’s got going on with Quinn with one, “Not even you?” Thankfully, Mike nearly falls off his chair elbowing Puck hard enough to make him double over.

“What the fuck, man?” Puck snaps, and the crisis is averted.

Mike shrugs.

Quinn sighs. “Keep him in line, boys. Vocal Adrenaline need to think this is our revenge for Regionals. We have to make Kurt look innocent.”

“Easy enough,” someone whispered, and Kurt whips his head around, trying to pinpoint the culprit.

“And remember,” Mercedes tells the room at large. “No telling Rachel the plan, and that means not telling Finn, because he’s a blathermouth.”

No one points out the irony of Mercedes calling someone else a blathermouth.

*

“Am I the only one who thinks it’s really, really weird that _Puck_ is helping with our plan for me to seduce a male competitor?” Kurt asks Mercedes as soon as they’re alone.

“You do have to give the boy credit,” Mercedes replies. “He’ll jump on any boat if it means he either gets some or gets to give someone a wedgie.”

Kurt sighs, leaning dramatically against the bank of lockers. “I’m just worried this is going to crash and burn, and then I’ll have all these bitches knowing all my business.”

“You’ve never been shy about flaunting your business all around town before,” Mercedes points out. She adjusts her scarf. “Look, Kurt, I know this is a weird way for you to get your first boyfriend. But you gotta tell me. How was that kiss?”

Kurt doesn’t mean to, but he’s pretty sure that his face is a textbook example of a dreamy smile. “Nothing spectacular.”

“Uh-huh, I can tell,” Mercedes replies. “Sweetie, you aren’t going to get yourself hurt with this, right? I only agreed to help because I thought you were a callous bitch who had no problem manipulating the feelings of others, which, you _are_ , but I think that heart of yours is pinned on your sleeve.”

“That is a terrible way to accessorize, and you know how good I am at accessorizing,” Kurt promises her. “Really, it was just that his hands were so warm. And I was surprised. Next time will be callous and cold. Emotionless. Cross my heart.”

Mercedes purses her lips and changes the topic to what they’re going to wear the next day, though her grip on his arm seems gentler and more reassuring than usual.

*

When Kurt arrives at the garage after school, his dad gives him a funny look. 

“Some kid’s asking about you,” he says. “He’s in the waiting room.”

Kurt stands on his tiptoes, and he can see through the half-glass wall into the tiny waiting room. Jesse St James is sprawled in one of the plastic chairs, thumbing through an issue of _Hot Rod_. “Oh god.”

“Want me to kick him out?” Burt asks. “Cuz I can. He can come back for his car later.”

Kurt then sees the Camaro on the lift, getting its tires rotated. Probably completely needlessly, given how new it is. He sighs dramatically. “He’s probably just here to heckle me about losing.” At Burt’s blank stare, he clarifies, “He’s the star of Vocal Adrenaline. I’ll just go get this over with.”

Burt catches his arm. “Don’t take any shit, kid.”

“Never,” Kurt promises as he enters the waiting room, very aware of the fact that his father is watching his every move. He turns and makes shooing motions, and Burt visibly sighs and retreats to his office.

“Hi there,” Jesse says. He’s wearing all black, from his t-shirt to his shoes, which only makes the shiny silver of his plain belt buckle all the more noticeable. Kurt does his best not to notice, as staring at that region will just make Jesse think he’s winning.

“St. James,” he says. No undue familiarity, no sir. Kurt Hummel can be just as emotionless and robotic as the next guy. Especially when the next guy is Jesse St James, who has big warm hands and whose lips are all right there, attached to him, like he’s some big _thing_ composed of sexy parts. Kurt scowls.

“I came to offer my most sincere apology for the other day,” Jesse says. “I’ve come to realize that perhaps I was a little forward in my affections. Allow me to make it up to you. Perhaps with dinner and a song? I’ve prepared an Elton John number I think you’ll find satisfactory.”

“I don’t want that,” Kurt says, while his mind is whirring trying to figure out what Elton John song Jesse would be hottest singing. Sing hottest, he means. Oh god. “Oh god.”

He desperately wants to clamp his hand over his mouth but he plays it cool, like he randomly squeaks out blasphemy all the time. It’s totally normal. He’s just going to stand here and stare down Jesse, who is looking confused.

“You know how stellar my vocals are,” Jesse says slowly, “and you still don’t want me to serenade you?”

“No,” Kurt says. “I mean. What I mean is, that I’m just… new to this sort of thing. You know. You saw William McKinley. I wasn’t expecting… I mean. You dated Rachel.”

Kurt thinks he’s been possessed. Possibly by Finn. He can’t believe that string of incoherent idiocy just came out of him. He stares at Jesse’s belt buckle some more, because he doesn’t want to see his face at all. There is no way he’s telling Santana about this. None.

“You think I’m playing you,” Jesse says. There’s something hard in his voice, something that makes Kurt’s palms sweaty. Kurt raises his eyes, peering up at Jesse’s face through his lashes. Jesse’s jaw is set and he narrows his eyes as he says, “I’m not. I know you don’t have any motive to believe me, not after what I did. But trust me, that wasn’t what I wanted to do, and this… I don’t mess around like this.”

Kurt believes him. “I don’t believe you.”

Jesse stands, looking completely fierce. Kurt subtly wipes his damp palms on his trousers, not even caring about the fabric. “Then I’ll prove it to you.”

Jesse brushes against Kurt as he leaves the waiting room, and Kurt sinks down on a plastic chair, wondering when this all got twisted up in his head. 

*

When he gets home, he heads straight down to his room, ready to call Mercedes and get her opinion about what the hell just happened. He stops short when he realizes that not only is Finn in their room, but Finn is making out with Rachel Berry. In Kurt’s basement.

“This is unacceptable!” Kurt proclaims. 

Rachel detaches her face from Finn’s and says, “Hello, Kurt. Finn said that you were busy this afternoon, and my dads were home, so we came here to study.”

There are, in fact, several textbooks currently being smooshed under Finn’s hip and Rachel’s leg. Finn is flushed red and says, “Hey, can you just… leave?”

“It’s my room,” Kurt bitches, but goes to get his phone charger and makeup bag. He was planning on experimenting with his new eyeliner, and he can do it just as well upstairs.

“You made me sleep on the couch the other day when you had that Cheerios sleepover,” Finn gripes.

Rachel perks to attention like a dog hearing a bell. “You had a Cheerios sleepover?”

“Yes,” Kurt says shortly. To Finn, he directs, “And Santana and Brittany called dibs on your bed. Trust me, you weren’t welcome.”

Finn goes a little cross-eyed and Rachel scowls. “Why? Cheerleading season ended weeks ago. You already won Nationals.”

“Some of us actually make friends with our teammates,” Kurt says. “Something you’d know nothing about. And I’d really rather not be here while you two are--” he makes a dismissive hand gesture “—studying. Anatomy, I presume.” He sniffs and sweeps up the stairs as dramatically as possible without actually wearing a Scarlet O’Hara gown.

Once he’s settled in the den, he calls Mercedes. “Rachel and Finn are making out in my bedroom. I feel so dirty.”

Mercedes is definitely laughing at him. “Pumpkin, you realize Finn’s allowed to bring girls to his room. Even if it’s your room too.”

“That doesn’t make it any less icky,” Kurt says primly. 

“No wonder one little kiss from Jesse got you all fired up, boy, you’re desperate,” Mercedes responds. 

That reminds Kurt of the real reason he called. “Um. So I think Jesse is going to try to woo me through song.”

There’s a pause. “And you didn’t open with that? What’s wrong with you? You aren’t still crushing on Finn, are you?”

“No!” Kurt’s voice is a few octaves higher than usual. “It momentarily slipped my mind. He showed up at the garage today. I think he asked me out? It was hard to tell.”

“Did you say yes?” That was clearly the only acceptable answer in Mercedes’ book.

“I turned him down,” Kurt replies. No need to share his verbal diarrhea with the class. “And he was worried that I thought that his motives weren’t pure because of the whole Rachel thing—“

“Imagine that!”

“—and he basically said that he was going to prove me wrong. He left all dramatically and back-lit, and I’m pretty sure he was plotting what musical number would most convince me of the sincerity of his motives.” Out loud it sounds vaguely ridiculous, but Kurt knows perfectly well the power of Jesse St James’ voice. 

“Boy, you are screwed,” Mercedes says happily. 

“I know,” Kurt says glumly. He’s pretty sure that the whole plan is going to backfire when he falls desperately in love with the dashing Jesse St James. It’s going to be so _embarrassing_ , and he’s pretty sure Santana might shove him inside a locker for wasting all her time.

“Resistance is key,” Mercedes offers.

“Resistance is futile,” Kurt despairs.

From the silence on the other end of the line, he can tell Mercedes agrees. Dammit.

*

Kurt spends the next two days feeling like an extra in a particularly cruel horror movie. He keeps expecting a surprise musical ambush at any moment – perhaps with pyro and back-up dancers – but no dice. Jesse St James is elusive. Jesse St James is like a cheetah on the prowl, and Kurt is the wobbly-kneed antelope who knows that sudden death is out lurking in the savannah, but just keeps on hobbling around the water hole anyway.

There haven’t been any more planning meetings – Kurt is somewhat relieved to know that he’s not the center of everyone’s universe right now – and after two full days of _nothing_ , not even so much as a cryptic text message, Kurt begins to relax.

So, of course, that’s when Puck corners him at his locker.

Kurt reflexively looks for a slushie.

“We took down Vocal Adrenaline last night,” Puck announces happily. “The full works. Wrecked their auditorium, egged their rehearsal room, paint-balled their cars, stole their trophy and stapled it to the roof of the AA meeting hall.”

“Congratulations,” Kurt says warily. It’s still disconcerting, having Puck nearby without fearing for his Dolce and Gabbana. 

“Santana wants to know how you’re doing,” Puck continues, as though having a conversation alone with Kurt without the word ‘gay’ being featured frequently in startlingly unoriginal insults is somehow normal.

“Jesse is planning on wooing me,” Kurt says reluctantly. 

Puck nods. “With a song? That shit totally works. At least, for studs like the Puckasaurus Rex.” He smirks.

Kurt isn’t sure if he’s supposed to agree that Puck is a stud or not. He chooses to ignore the comment and Puck’s increasingly inane nicknames for himself. “Yes. He’s planning to woo me through song. I’m waiting for said serenade to happen.”

“If he knows what he’s doing, he’ll wait until he thinks you’re desperate and your self-esteem has plummeted because he hasn’t said anything to you, and then, whammo! Song and dance and into your pants,” Puck says sagely. “Works like a charm.”

Kurt is pretty sure that he’s filing for moral bankruptcy just by listening to Puck talk. “That is horrible.” He pauses. “He wouldn’t think I’m really that desperate, right? I have self-esteem! I have more self-esteem than I know what to do with! My self-esteem could fill a swimming pool!”

Puck’s shoulders start to shake and Kurt realizes he’s being laughed at. “You. Neanderthal. Go. You’re offending my eyes with your stupid face.”

Puck legitimately _pats him on the shoulder_ and leaves Kurt standing there, debating sending Jesse a completely casual text about how he’d forgotten Jesse St James even existed and definitely was not waiting for the promised serenade.

*

“Puck was right,” Kurt says. The words feel thick and cottony in his mouth, like his very soul is rebelling against the idea that Puck might be right about something. 

“Did you eat some of that chicken salad that was in the Tupperware in the fridge? Because that shit’s been there for months,” Mercedes says, looking at him with deep concern. 

“I know,” Kurt says. “I think I was the one who left it there. But I think he’s right about what Jesse is doing. He is kind of an expert in manipulating girls.”

Mercedes sighs. “Sweetheart, even if Jesse _is_ manipulating you, you know about it, so it’s null and void. Also, did you forget the part where you had cheerleaders infiltrate his circle of known associates and brainwash them into casually mentioning things designed to make him think of you?”

Kurt purses his lips. “That is completely different.”

Mercedes raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms over her chest.

“In the way where Jesse is the enemy and everything he does is evil and thus everything I do is justified,” Kurt clarifies.

“Keep that in mind,” Mercedes says. She waves two bottles of polish at Kurt. “Now, which of these would look better on my toes?”

*

When Kurt gets home, he can hear the low rumble of a male voice and the lighter giggles of a female voice drifting up his basement stairs. He sighs and prepares himself to deal with Finn and Rachel yet again.

He has to blink twice when he gets to the foot of the stairs. Finn is nowhere in sight, Rachel is mercifully absent, and _Noah Puckerman_ is sprawled out in his chair playing some hand-held video game while Santana and Brittany giggle on Kurt’s bed.

“You know, it’s considered polite to get an invitation before you invade someone’s room,” Kurt tells Santana. 

“Your dad let us in,” she replies. “He thinks I’m a nice girl.”

Puck snorts.

“No, he doesn’t,” Kurt says. “He’s just happy you’re not Rachel Berry. Finn brought her over for dinner yesterday and she decided to perform a Barbara Streisand medley before dessert. Dad doesn’t appreciate Streisand, especially when it keeps him from his key lime pie.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Plus I think he expected me to bring home someone who insists on performing show tunes during meals, not Finn.”

“Dude, your life sucks,” Puck says. 

“I am well aware,” Kurt replies. It really is alarming how often he’s been agreeing with Puck lately. Maybe Babygate did mature Puck. It’s definitely not a reflection of Kurt’s state of mind. “Why are _you_ here?”

Puck glances over at Santana and Brittany. Brittany beams at Kurt. “Make-out lessons!”

Kurt blinks. None of them _need_ make-out lessons. They’ve collectively probably made out with three-quarters of the population of Lima. 

…Wait.

He narrows his eyes at Santana. “No.”

Santana rolls her eyes at him. “Don’t be a baby. Trust me, you need them.”

“I thought you were joking!” Kurt’s voice rises dangerously high on the last note.

“Relax,” Brittany says. “It’ll be fun.”

Kurt turns his still-narrowed eyes to Puck. “Did you actually agree to this?”

“I got promised a threesome,” Puck says with a shrug. Brittany and Santana nod.

Kurt, for the first time in his life, has no idea what to say. He just stares at the three of them, sprawled comfortably around his room.

“Is he broken?” Puck asks, tilting his head.

“He’ll get over it,” Santana says calmly. “Okay. What should we start with?”

“Kissing,” Brittany says decisively. “Pucker up!”

She and Santana dissolve into giggles.

“Um,” Kurt says. “Wait, is this actually happening?”

Puck responds by getting up and suddenly being entirely too close to Kurt. Kurt flinches away out of pure reflex. 

“Don’t flinch with Jesse. That’s a bad move,” Santana calls.

“Jesse has never thrown me in a dumpster,” Kurt replies testily. “I’m not conditioned to flinch from him.”

“So you want me to just lay one on him, or what?” Puck asks Santana.

Santana taps her chin. “Yeah. Let’s see what we’re working with.”

Kurt is pretty sure that this is a cruel dream he’s having. His subconscious is a _bitch_.

Puck looks skeptically at Kurt. “He looks awful skittish. Like a kicked kitten.”

Kurt keeps waiting on his words to return to him. Things are spiraling out of control. “I’m not skittish.”

“You backing out, Puckerman?” Santana demands. Brittany leans her head on Santana’s shoulder and winks.

Puck sighs and leans in and the next thing Kurt knows, he’s being kissed by _Noah Puckerman_. It’s kind of awesome.

“Do something with your hands!” Brittany calls out.

Kurt kind of flails them, because the only place to put them is on Puck, and that is too weird, even though Puck’s got a hand cupping his jaw and another hand resting lightly on Kurt’s hip. Puck stops kissing him but doesn’t move away from him, and Santana and Brittany are suddenly standing on either side of Kurt.

“Here,” Santana says, taking Kurt’s hand and resting it on Puck’s chest. “Nothing fancy, but it’s nice to, you know, acknowledge that someone is right there kissing you.”

Kurt’s cheeks are kind of warm, and he’s never felt this awkward in his _life_.

“Should I get you drunk?” Puck asks. “You aren’t going to have a diva fit, are you? Because I’m only down for so much.”

“I do not have diva fits,” Kurt says with as much dignity as he can muster, considering that Brittany has taken his right hand and is playing itsy-bitsy-spider with it, and that his left hand is still resting on Puck’s well-muscled chest.

How is this his _life_?

“The drunk plan isn’t so bad,” Santana says. She turns to Kurt, hands on her hips. “Either loosen up or we’re raiding your dad’s liquor cabinet.”

“Can we anyway?” Puck asks. “I think I earned it.”

“You’ve kissed him once, and he had scared Bambi eyes the whole time,” Santana says. “I want his toes curling.”

“I mean, I’m a stud and I can do whatever I want and it’s cool,” Puck begins, “but curling toes is starting to sound a little gay.”

He’s still like four inches from Kurt’s face, and his hand is still curled around Kurt’s hip.

Kurt thinks hysterical laughter is bubbling up in his throat. He’s never actually experienced the phenomenon before, but this situation definitely warrants it. “You really don’t have to make my toes curl,” Kurt says firmly.

“He’s very good at it,” Brittany assures Kurt. She’s now loosely holding his hand, and she leans forward and pecks his cheek. 

“Pretend like we aren’t here,” Santana offers.

Puck raises an eyebrow at Kurt. Kurt sighs. “I’ll loosen up.”

Puck kisses him again, and Kurt does his best to pretend like anyone except Puck is kissing him and that two Cheerios aren’t analyzing his every move. It’s more difficult than he anticipates.

Puck pulls back. “This isn’t working.”

“It’s really not,” Kurt agrees. His hand is still resting on Puck’s chest. 

Brittany sighs. “Do you want us to turn our backs?”

Santana snaps at Puck, “Back out now and you don’t even get to watch us make out, much less join in.”

“He’s the one with fish lips,” Puck whines.

“Kurt, you need to just go for it,” Brittany says. “You aren’t going to get a boy just standing there.”

Kurt smoothes his hair. “This is just really weird, okay.”

Puck nods, even though he’s been having zero issues. Kurt glares. If Puck can do this, he can too. He will not be embarrassed by being totally turned on by _Noah Puckerman_ ’s stupid muscle-y arms. Kurt Hummel is not a prude, and he’s more than a little appalled that Santana, Brittany and Puck all clearly now think he is.

“On the bed,” Santana instructs.

“Isn’t the bed a little too sexy?” Puck questions.

“Isn’t that the point?” Kurt wonders. 

He gets an uncomfortable look from Puck and resists the urge to giggle. Brittany adds, “It’s Finn’s bed, so it’s not sexy.”

There was a pause as they all consider the truthfulness of this statement. Then Puck pushes Kurt down on Finn’s bed – Kurt tries not to be offended by the cowboy bedding that Finn insisted on – and is abruptly on top of him, kissing him and _moving_ and it’s suddenly very, very easy to forget about their audience.

“See? Just had to get rid of the middle school dance vibe,” he hears Santana say dimly. 

It turns out that Kurt likes making out with Puck. He likes it rather a lot.

After they get comfortable with the fact that they are sucking face, Puck starts giving advice – “Move to the left, just there,” and “Easier on the tongue,” and “Remember not to smoosh the chick, or, I guess, dude,” – and Kurt obeys and tries to ignore his dick, especially since it really wants him to rub it against Puck’s. He is not going to come in his pants. Especially not these pants, they’re nowhere near out of season yet.

He almost yelps when he feels a small cool hand grab his, and opens his eyes to see Brittany taking his hand and moving it to Puck’s ass. “Squeeze like this,” she instructs.

“Maybe his hand should go in the pants,” Santana says thoughtfully.

“Not gonna happen,” Puck mumbles into where he’s lazily kissing Kurt’s neck. “That’s gay.”

“You’ve got your hand up Kurt’s shirt,” Santana calmly points out.

“Totally different. It’s a chick move,” Puck replies. Kurt’s already planning what scarf he’s going to wear tomorrow to hide the hickey that Puck is leaving behind.

Kurt is a terrible person. Kurt shouldn’t do it. Kurt shifts his hips so that his dick, somewhat painfully confined in his too-tight pants, gets wonderful, delicious friction against Puck’s boner. Puck groans into Kurt’s neck, and Kurt smirks at Santana. “Chick move?” he asks.

“Fuck you, dude,” Puck replies. He doesn’t actually seem over-bothered by the level of gay, though, as he takes Kurt’s move as the all-clear to put his hips into motion.

Kurt promptly forgets everything, even the Cheerios still perched _on the bed_ with them, when there is a loud “Oh my god,” from the direction of the stairwell.

Puck looks over. Kurt peers over one of Puck’s shoulders. Finn is standing at the bottom of the stairs looking scandalized. “Are you having an orgy on my bed?”

“There are way too many clothes not on the floor for this to be an orgy,” Puck replies easily.

Finn blinks a few times. “Are you making out with Kurt?”

“No, he slipped and fell onto my mouth,” Kurt says, rolling his eyes.

“We’re kind of busy,” Brittany says. “Unless you want in?”

“No! No, that’s fine,” Finn says quickly, backing up the stairs. He trips a little and grabs onto the railing. “I was just coming to say that, um. Jesse St James is on the front lawn with a bunch of back-up dancers. And a band. And I think a fireworks technician.”

Kurt tries to sit bolt upright, but Puck is in the way. He kind of bounces off him, hits the bed, and begins to squirm his way out of the tangle of limbs he’s gotten himself into. “Really? What are they wearing? Does it look like it’s going to be a classic Broadway performance or something more modern?”

Finn clearly has no answer.

“Hey, dweeb, you aren’t allowed to just ditch the Puckster,” Puck protests. 

“Oh, right,” Kurt says. He pecks Puck on the cheek. “Thank you very much.” 

Santana and Brittany giggle as Kurt scampers out of bed and hurries towards the stairs, then doubles back and perches at his vanity, carefully re-arranging his hair into something a little less debauched.

“Um,” Finn says awkwardly from the stairs. “Do you want me to…” He clearly has no idea what to offer.

“You can return to your _Ice Road Truckers_ marathon,” Kurt says with a finger flutter of dismissal. In the vanity mirror he can see Santana, now perched on top of Puck, unzipping Brittany’s Cheerios uniform. Finn’s eyes are very wide as he obediently clumps back up the stairs.

Kurt doesn’t think there’s anything he can do about his swollen lips beyond dabbling some watermelon-flavored lip gloss on them, but he does add a jaunty scarf that adds just the right amount of maidenly anticipation – he _works_ it – and hurries to the stairs. He spares Santana, Puck and Brittany a glance as he goes, but they’re already preoccupied.

He heard what Finn said well enough, but it’s still a shock when he opens his front door and there’s a portable stage set up, risers and all, with Jesse settled at a piano on the edge of it. There’s even a band _and_ a string quartet. It reminds Kurt uncomfortably of Vocal Adrenaline’s set-up for Regionals, and he shuts the door firmly behind him, hoping that Finn will leave well enough alone.

“Kurt,” Jesse says grandly, rises and does a polite, gentlemanly bow. He’s wearing black skinny jeans and a red velvet frock coat. The dancers arrange themselves – girls in tiny white taffeta dresses and boys wearing tight jeans, leather jackets and top hats – and it all makes sense when Jesse settles back down at the piano and plays the opening notes of _November Rain_.

“When I look into your eyes, I can see a love restrained,” Jesse sings. “And darling when I hold you, don’t you know I feel the same?”

Kurt watches, eyes wide, as the dancers begin, and Jesse, after establishing his prowess with the piano, leaps into the fray, dancing his way through the troupe as he sings a heartrendingly beautiful version of the song, a version heretofore only dreamt of by Axl Rose. Kurt cannot look away.

And then Jesse looks straight into Kurt’s eyes as he sings, “So if you want to love me, then darling don’t refrain.”

The girls twirl around and the choreography is flawless and Kurt is helplessly, hopelessly smitten. He walks towards the stage and allows Jesse to spin him, to come in close and sing to him, to take his hand and tell him that he needs somebody, and then, as the final notes ring through the air, Kurt kisses Jesse.

Fireworks explode through the air, and Kurt thinks this is the single most perfect moment of his entire life.

*

They end up in Jesse’s car rather quickly after that – Jesse hissing that amateur fireworks are illegal here and that they need to get kind of far away pretty soon – and Kurt can’t stop smiling stupidly.

“I thought I would further show off my mastery of Freddie Mercury’s oeuvre,” Jesse says, “but then I remembered your choir’s somewhat perplexing adoration of hair metal classics. I hope it was to your satisfaction?”

“Quite,” Kurt agrees. He’s feeling a little dumbstruck, especially when Jesse smiles like that. Poor Rachel Berry. She hadn’t stood a chance. Kurt feels faintly bad for mocking her Jesse St James-related choices, if this was what she’d been presented with. “You stage epic numbers just before Nationals often, or am I special?”

There was one of Jesse’s big warm hands, stroking Kurt’s cheek. “I think you know the answer to that.”

Kurt lets out a tiny mewling happy sigh and took this opportunity to kiss Jesse again. This is pretty much the best night of his life, he realizes, carefully putting Puck’s kissing technique into practice. Making out with not one but _two_ hot dudes, one of which he actually likes and has just choreographed an epic dance number in his honor. Kurt had always known his day would come, but he hadn’t really expected it to happen while he was still in high school.

“Want to take this to the back seat?” Jesse asks with a smoldering stare. 

“Absolutely,” Kurt agrees quickly. When he climbs out to be able to fold himself into the car’s postage-stamp sized back seat, he realizes that Jesse has parked across the street from Rachel Berry’s house. Kurt tries not to question it as Jesse joins him and they awkwardly find a way to accommodate all the knees and elbows that suddenly seem to fill up the back seat, especially when Jesse manages to straddle Kurt’s hips and leans down and kisses him senseless.

But, as it turns out, not senseless enough that Kurt can ignore something like _Rachel Berry’s house_ lurking outside the car, radiating disapproval and superiority.

Kurt breaks the kiss. “Why did you bring us here?”

“Where?” Jesse mumbles into Kurt’s throat, where he’s nuzzling the scarf out of the way in order to get to more skin. He’s also working a hand down Kurt’s pants, a move that is both impressive due to the snugness of Kurt’s pants as well as a move guaranteed to make Kurt lose his train of thought pretty soon, so he asks again.

“Here. That’s Rachel Berry’s house.” Kurt never would have thought he’d be talking about Rachel Berry while a dude was trying to feel him up. 

“Is it?” Jesse’s voice sounds a little squeaky. “I mean.” He looks up. “Huh. It is.”

Kurt blinks several times. “Your _subconscious_ had you bring your new boyfriend to your ex-girlfriend’s house to make out with him for the first time?”

“So you think you’re my boyfriend?” Charming smile. Kurt will not be swayed.

“Focus on the other half of the sentence, especially the bit where you purposely tried to rattle my group’s lead singer right before Regionals,” Kurt says testily.

“I wasn’t supposed to rattle Rachel,” Jesse admits. “I was just supposed to befriend her so she’d find out that Shelby was her mom. Shelby’s idea.”

“But then why did you seduce her?” Kurt asks. 

Jesse manages to prop himself up on his elbow, one hand still tucked in Kurt’s waistband, and sighs. “It seemed like a good use of resources at the time. I’m very charming.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow.

“And for a brief time, I thought our combined vocal talents would be enough to convince her to join Vocal Adrenaline. And, tumor-like, she kind of grew on me,” Jesse admits. “But I had my career to think about, and the potential for disaster was too great.”

“So you egged her.”

“So I egged her,” Jesse confirms.

“And do you still have a crush on Rachel?” Kurt is really, really sick of boys he has crushes on being in love with Rachel Berry.

Jesse smiles. “Not anymore.”

His hand creeps lower, and Kurt decides that, really, in a town this small there’s no use in waiting around for someone who hasn’t dated people he hates. Jesse returns to nuzzling his neck, and pushes Kurt’s scarf out of the way.

There’s a pause.

“Why were you covering up your neck?” Jesse asks tersely. His hand is no longer in Kurt’s pants.

Kurt remembers Puck sucking on his neck like a Hoover. 

“Um. Mosquito bite?” He goes ahead and removes his hand from Jesse’s ass. He has a feeling it’s not going to be welcome by the time this conversation is over.

“You cheated on me!” Jesse says, astonished.

“I did not!” Kurt defends himself. “I didn’t know we were exclusive! You only just wooed me! If anything, it’s your own fault for taking too long to stage an extravagant musical number!”

Apparently douchery is transmitted via saliva, because he’s pretty sure he caught it from Puck.

Jesse pulls away, and there’s a moment of awkward detangling as they each position themselves on a single seat. Kurt fastidiously smoothes his hair.

“Wait, was that why you didn’t come out when the trucks bringing the stages pulled up? Did you have someone _in your room_ while I was serenading you?” 

Kurt really can’t answer that question. It’s time to put the end game in action, he supposes. He really doesn’t want to.

“This isn’t going to work,” Jesse says quietly.

Kurt had hoped to at least get a few good dinners out of the whole dating-Jesse thing. “I’m not sorry. I don’t think you’re nearly as excellent as you think you are. And your hair needs some serious work, really. You look like Justin Timberlake after he’s been stranded on a desert island stocked only with mousse for two months.”

He sent a prayer of thanks for all the hair-mockery he’d heard from Sue Sylvester during his tenure as a Cheerio.

Jesse looks gobsmacked. “My hair is _glorious_.”

Kurt sniffs. “You’re no McDreamy.”

And with that, he manages to push the front seat forward, mentally cursing the designers of sports cars, and manages to climb out. Jesse sits despondently in the back seat. “Elaborate dance numbers have never failed me before.”

Kurt feels really, really bad. Guilty, even, and he never feels guilt, especially not when manipulating others. It’s a bad sign.

“Maybe you just aren’t as musically talented as you supposed,” he answers, hopefully putting the nail in the coffin of Jesse’s confidence and talent at Nationals. 

And then he walks off.


	2. Part Two

By the time he reaches Mercedes’, he’s hyperventilating. 

Her dad doesn’t even bat an eye, just opens the door wide and says, “She’s in the den.”

Kurt bursts into the den and says, “It all went terribly, terribly awry!”

Mercedes has a handful of popcorn halfway to her mouth. She drops it. “What the hell?”

“Everything! It went dreadfully amiss! Jesse broke up with me! Or, maybe I yelled some extremely cruel things about his hair and talent and then stomped away. But the point is, I feel really really bad about it and don’t know what to do!” Kurt can practically feel his hair frazzling with nerves. 

“Is he okay?” Tina, who Kurt had barely even noticed was in the room, whispers. “He looks like he’s about to spontaneously combust.

Mercedes sets down her popcorn bowl, turns off _RuPaul’s Drag Race_ and says, “Boy, when you left here this afternoon, everything was fine and dandy. What the hell happened?”

“Jesse got upset because he thought I cheated on him. Which I totally didn’t, because we never really were dating!” Kurt’s voice is getting squeaky.

Mercedes squints at him. “Is that a monster hickey on your neck?”

Kurt realizes that his Hermes silk scarf is still lying discarded in the backseat of Jesse’s Camaro. He sighs and sinks down on the couch beside Mercedes. “Yes.”

“So things went well with Jesse?” Tina looks satisfied.

“No. Well, yes. Until he noticed the monster hickey.”

Mercedes gapes at him. “Who gave you the hickey?”

There is no graceful way to answer the question. “…Puck.”

“Wait, you made out with _Puck_ and that wasn’t the first thing you told me? What is wrong with you, boy?” Mercedes is getting that look, the one where she knows that she has prime gossip and can’t wait to share it. Last time he saw her glow this much was when she found out who Quinn’s babydaddy really was. 

“Did you videotape it?” Tina asks. “Because it sounds pretty hot.”

“It was Santana’s doing,” Kurt says. “She decided to go through with the make out lesson. So there was making out with Puck--”

“Awesome, am I right?” Mercedes interjects.

“Very,” Kurt agrees. Tina gives them both jealous looks. “And then Finn interrupts to tell me that Jesse was outside setting up a massive performance to prove his love for me.”

“Wait, _Finn_ walked in on you and Puck making out?” Mercedes looks like she’s the cat who ate about a dozen canaries.

Kurt is totally the harbinger of awesome gossip. “On his bed.” He pauses. “Santana and Brittany were there, too. Finn thought we were having an orgy.”

Tina bursts into delighted laughter.

“Why wasn’t I invited?” Mercedes grips. “Since it was a free show and all.”

“I was ambushed,” Kurt tells her. “I came home and there they were and the next thing I knew I was being peer-pressured into all manner of debauchery.”

“Wait, so Jesse performed for you?”

“He did a full-on performance of _November Rain_ ,’” Kurt says. “There were backup dancers and fireworks and everything.”

Tina and Mercedes sigh. Kurt kind of melts, remembering. 

“So then what?”

“So then I went with Jesse and we made out in his car,” Kurt says. It feels really excellent to say it out loud.

“So it went well,” Tina says.

“Well, not really,” Kurt replies. “Firstly because he parked across from Rachel Berry’s house and I had to call him out on being hung up on her. And then because he called me out on making out with someone else. It went badly.”

“Wait,” Tina says. “Why did Santana have you make out with Puck today? I mean, she has spies in Vocal Adrenaline and would know that Jesse was planning something.”

There’s a pause.

“That _bitch_ ,” Kurt exclaims.

*

It takes all night, but they finally decide on a course of action that doesn’t involve breaking into Santana’s house and replacing her conditioner with Nair. Mercedes actually asks Kurt if he caught stupid from Puck after that one, and he doesn’t really have much room to defend himself.

Kurt breezes into school with Mercedes and Tina on either side of him, purposefully wearing the same outfit as the day before. He’s accessorized differently – “Walk of Shame couture,” Mercedes had said, pinching his cheeks before adding blush, breaking out the lip venom to make him look thoroughly wanton and carefully arranging a scarf to waterfall like a cravat over his lapel – but there’s no denying that the base outfit remains the same, something Kurt has heretofore only done in the midst of a deep depression.

He gives Santana a little finger wave as he passes her in the hall, smiling widely. She does not look impressed. Brittany waves back cheerfully. “Your dad made me smiley-face pancakes,” she calls.

Kurt gives her a thumbs-up.

“They know you didn’t come home,” Tina whispers, delighted.

“Santana gave you the radioactive stink-eye,” Mercedes adds. “Oh, this is going to be even easier than I hoped.”

Kurt beams, right up until he realizes that Rachel Berry is standing at his locker, looking like a particularly militant librarian preparing to collect late fines.

Kurt turns on his heel, but Mercedes and Tina each grab an arm and twirl him back around, practically dragging him to his locker.

“Hey there, cutie,” Mercedes opens, but Rachel cuts her off.

“So last night I had my nightly vocal exercises interrupted by a very distraught Jesse St James, who insisted I validate both his vocal abilities and the visual appeal of his hairstyle,” Rachel announces.

“Did you?” Tina asks innocently.

Kurt is too busy visualizing the scene to wonder himself.

“I told him the truth,” Rachel replies primly. “And if the truth happened to include the word ‘stupendous,’ well, you can’t blame a girl for having eyes. Or ears.”

“Wait, so _Jesse_ was upset?” Mercedes narrows a glare on Kurt. “I thought you said he was dumping you.”

“He was going to. I had to do a pre-emptive strike,” Kurt explains. Rachel stands there, radiating annoyance at being left out of a plot. “I’ll explain,” he tells her.

Five minutes later, she nods thoughtfully. “So that’s why Finn called me last night wondering about the moral integrity of the rest of the Glee club,” she says. “It sounds like you need someone with the acting skill set that I possess.”

“No,” Kurt, Mercedes and Tina all say decisively.

She waves her hand at them dismissively. “No worries, friends and cohorts. Rachel Berry has this under control.”

“No, you do not,” Kurt says. “If Santana finds out that I figured out that she’s been secretly plotting against me under the guise of assisting me, then all this will have been for naught!”

“Your theatrics appeal to my deep love of the dramatic arts,” Rachel agrees. “Even though I should be mad at you for completely leaving me out of a plan seeking vengeance on my behalf--”

“Really, it was on behalf of all of us, since Jesse used that stunt to Vocal Adrenaline’s advantage and kicked our ass at Regionals,” Mercedes interjects.

“Well, he tried,” Tina says. “I’m not sure that it actually had any effect on the actual outcome.”

“Vengeance on my behalf,” Rachel repeats loudly and deliberately, “I feel as though I should help you both undermine Santana’s evil whims while still maintaining the integrity of the original plan.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning,” Rachel says, “that we’re going to wait until after Nationals to entice Jesse back into Kurt’s loving embrace.”

“Can you please never say that again?” Kurt requests plaintively. But other than that, it seems like a solid plan.

He nods and shakes Rachel’s hand very formally. 

“Anything to get you to stop pining over my boyfriend,” Rachel says cheerfully. 

“I do not pine!” Kurt squawks, but Mercedes just pats him on the shoulder.

*

“This is actually a good thing,” Mercedes says at lunch.

“The Salisbury steak? I’m pretty sure it’s not even technically a _thing_ ,” Artie says, prodding at his tray with a fork.

“No, the fact that Rachel Berry is determined to be part of the plan,” Mercedes explains. “She’s going to keep Santana occupied, so we can focus on the important part.”

“What important part?” Kurt says morosely. “It’s already over. Objective accomplished. Jesse is sad.”

“Oh god, now _you’re_ pining over Jesse?” Quinn sets her tray down on the table with a clang. “Did you ever even have a conversation with him?”

“Did you ever have a conversation with Puck?” Kurt says meanly. 

Quinn narrows her eyes. It’s pretty much a universal agreement that no one questions the thing between Quinn and Puck, especially since they’re more on-again off-again than any other couple at the school. It is quite frankly exhausting trying to keep up with it, but Kurt is feeling too bitchy to tread lightly around other people’s feelings. “That is none of your business,” she says tartly.

Mercedes kicks Kurt in the leg. He ignores her. “I’m just saying.”

“Well, _I’m_ just saying,” Quinn retorts.

They glare at each other for a moment. 

Tina whispers, “Is there going to be a throw down?”

They break the glare-off.

“You should definitely steal him back,” Kurt says. “He’s like a lost puppy. He does whatever Santana tells him to do.”

“I know,” Quinn says. “I just want to give it a little time because of the whole baby thing. We don’t need to get serious yet. It’s too soon.”

Kurt nods. Puck’s definitely not ready yet to settle down with one girl, and Quinn knows it. “Smart girl.”

“But Jesse, on the other hand…” Quinn says. She gives Kurt a look. “Do you want him back?”

“I barely had him!” Kurt sighs. “But yes, absolutely. He staged a performance of _November Rain_. It was poignant and tugged at my heartstrings.”

“Then why did your fool ass break up with him?” Mercedes demands.

“I told you! He was going to dump me! Kurt Hummel is not a dumpee,” Kurt says. He has pride, dammit. He _oozes_ pride. He has so much pride he’s pretty sure it cost him his first boyfriend.

Artie rolls his eyes. Kurt throws a wadded-up napkin at him. It misses.

“I can’t believe you didn’t think Santana had ulterior motives,” Quinn says. She spreads her own napkin over her lap and takes a dainty bite of her salad. “She’s always looking out for herself. It’s what I like most about her.”

Kurt sighs. “I was blinded by the glitz and glamour of a seduction.”

“Clearly,” Tina says. She pauses. “What _was_ Santana’s ulterior motive?”

“Coach Sylvester promised whoever ensured Vocal Adrenaline’s downfall the head Cheerios position,” Quinn says. “It’s apparently part of her vendetta against Olivia Newton-John.”

“Wait, then shouldn’t _I_ get the head Cheerio position?” Kurt wonders. “I mean, this is my plan, _and_ my vocal performance at Nationals was key to our success.”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “Coach Sylvester prefers subterfuge and back-stabbing as a means to an end.”

Kurt sighs. “Damn my doe-eyed innocent good-looks. I just can’t be believed as a villain. It was the key to my success with Jesse,” he adds thoughtfully. 

“He never did realize that you were trying to destroy his chances at Nationals, did he?” Mercedes muses.

“No,” Artie says. “You can’t build a relationship on a foundation of lies! It’ll crumble.” He pauses. “Though really, it’s okay just so long as you _eventually_ tell him.”

“I do miss his hair,” Kurt says. “I was so flustered that I tried to insult it, and it just came out gibberish about Justin Timberlake.”

Everyone took a second to remember the glory that is Jesse St James’ tresses.

“Well,” Quinn says. “Nationals is two weeks away.”

Kurt’s rational side points out that he’s waited sixteen years, so waiting two weeks to reunite with the hot boy who is willing to stick his hand down Kurt’s pants isn’t that bad. Kurt’s dick points out that there’s a hot boy out there willing to stick his hand down Kurt’s pants. “Two weeks is forever.”

Mercedes grins. “What did I tell you?”

Kurt narrows a glare in her direction. “I am excellent at accessorizing.”

Quinn has a tiny, thoughtful smile on her face. “You totally want Jesse to win Nationals.”

“Of course not,” Kurt says without any conviction whatsoever.

“Awwww!” Artie and Tina coo. Kurt scowls.

“Well,” Mercedes says briskly. “Only one thing to do about it.”

“Distract you until Nationals,” Quinn agrees. Kurt sighs.

*

“Honey?” Carol calls from the kitchen when Kurt gets home.

“I’m not Finn!” he calls back.

“Oh, good,” Carol says. She appears in the doorway. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Kurt sets his bag down and takes a deep breath. He appreciates that his dad loves Carol and that it’s his fault they got together, but it’s still somewhat jarring to have a woman who isn’t his mother in his house. It makes him miss his mom all the more, even though he tries his best to hide it. “About what?”

“I’m a little concerned,” Carol says, wringing a dishrag in her hands, “about how many girls seem to be spending the night.”

Kurt blinks a few times.

“I mean,” Carol says, “I know that Burt doesn’t see it as an issue, but, well, I don’t think it’s healthy for Finn.”

“So you want more boys to spend the night?” Kurt asks. He’s really not sure where this is leading.

“No, that’s not it,” Carol says. “It’s just. He’s not dating those cheerleaders, is he? They look a little slatternly, and the last cheerleader didn’t really work out so well.”

“Those cheerleaders are dating each other,” Kurt tells Carol. “And you know perfectly well Finn is dating Rachel. She wore that horrid sweatshirt, remember, with the kittens with their faces photoshpped on them?”

Carol breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. I’m much too young to be a grandmother, and I’ve already dodged that bullet once,” she says. “What about you?”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be a grandmother,” Kurt says, bemused.

Carol swats him with the dishrag. “Do you have anyone special in your life?”

Kurt sighs. “Do we have to talk about this?”

“That means yes,” Carol says with a smile. “Want some ice cream?”

Five minutes later Kurt is licking a spoon and telling Carol how complicated things have gotten with Jesse. “I mean,” he says, “we never really went out. There was just some kissing and intense stares and him wooing me utterly with his beautiful, beautiful voice. And then it imploded.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Carol says. “You are both too dramatic for your own good. You just need to haul yourself down to his house, tell him how you feel, and let things take their course.”

“But I can’t,” Kurt protests. “The whole point was to muddle him up before Nationals.”

“Do you really care about that?” Carol points out. “I mean, you already won Nationals this year at cheerleading. You’re out of the running with glee. Do you really want some random stranger to win instead of Jesse?”

The answer is unequivocally _no_.

Kurt sighs. “This is going to be so humiliating to explain to everyone.”

Carol rolls her eyes fondly. “Darling, I’ve only known you a few months and I already know that you will figure out a way to spin this in your favor.”

It’s completely true. Kurt smiles. “Thanks, Carol.”

“Anytime,” Carol smiles. “Finn never wants to talk like this. I never know what’s going on with him.” 

“I’ll talk to him,” Kurt promises. “I have to go.”

“Shoo,” Carol says, waving her spoon at him. “Go fix things with that nice young man.”

*

Kurt surveys his wardrobe. He has to pick the perfect outfit for this. There are no second chances.

He finally decides that the only look one can truly have when planning on declaring your like to someone is, of course, ‘dapper gentleman. He eschews the bowtie he wore for the Finn debacle and goes for an ivory brocade jacket that is heavy enough to feel like armor against the outside world. 

He makes sure his hair is arranged to perfection and carefully does his makeup. Subtle and natural, so it looks like he isn’t wearing any.

He looks at his phone, considering calling Mercedes, but… this is something that he really needs to do on his own.

He climbs into his baby and drives to Jesse’s house. It’s exactly what he expected. He forcefully rings the doorbell.

He struggles not to tap his foot as he waits impatiently.

Finally a woman in an honest-to-god black and white maid’s uniform – and not the sexy kind – opens the door.

“Is Jesse here?” Kurt asks.

“No,” replies the maid. Kurt tries not to show his disappointment. “He’s at practice.”

Of course he is. With Nationals so soon, it would be irresponsible of Jesse to not be spending all his time practicing.

Kurt goes to Carmel High, which, really, is where he should have headed in the first place, and sneaks into the auditorium. He thinks that maybe they should invest in some security, because McKinley kids have pretty much made a habit of sneaking in. Vocal Adrenaline are practicing. Kurt feels a tiny pang, because practice has become such a vital part of his life this year, it feels strange that he hasn’t had that since the loss at Regionals.

But it’s quickly apparent that something is _off_.

The dancers are still moving with robotic precision, the vocals are impeccable, but…

Jesse isn’t performing at one hundred percent. Jesse is barely performing at eighty percent. It’s disheartening to see.

The female lead is clearly frustrated, and when Jesse steps on her toe when he misses a dance step, she stops in her tracks and motions for the music to stop. “You’re still screwing up, St James. Keep this up and we’re not even going to place.”

Another member sidles up beside her. “You aren’t irreplaceable.”

“Of course I am,” Jesse replies easily. “No one else has my range, control or grace.”

“Then could you kindly show _any_ of those qualities on the next run-through?” 

Kurt can’t believe that the plan _actually worked_. He rattled Jesse St James. As Vocal Adrenaline start again from the top, he can tell that Jesse is completely off. 

And Kurt _did_ that.

He really can’t help how pleased he is. This is absolute, empirical evidence that Jesse cares about him.

He watches, entranced, as Jesse flubs a line, misses a dance step, and cracks his voice on a note normally well within his range. Kurt is _melting_ inside. 

He’s going to send Santana the biggest, tackiest, most fabulous bouquet of thank-you-for-sabotaging-my-already-rigged-relationship flowers he can find. 

Screw Carol’s advice. Kurt can feel the knowledge that Jesse really likes him settle deep in his chest, and this feeling will absolutely make the two weeks until Nationals bearable. He can avenge New Directions’ loss while still getting the man in the end. It is _perfect_.

And then Jesse looks up and spots Kurt.

Jesse stands shock-still for a moment before resuming his dance, but it’s too late and he’s off when his partner comes flying at him. They end up in an ungainly pile on the floor, and she climbs to her feet and announces, “That’s it. We’re done for the day. Get your act together, St James!” before stalking off in a huff worthy of Rachel Berry.

The rest of Vocal Adrenaline file off stage, acting as one entity, leaving Jesse standing there, one thumb hooked in the back pocket of his jeans. He’s wearing a red shirt and suspenders under a black leather jacket and the expression on his face makes him look like every bad boy in every 1950s-era movie Kurt has ever seen. The spotlight is still on him, but as Kurt begins to walk down the aisle, it shuts off, leaving Jesse in shadows.

Kurt could just leave, he could let Jesse stand there, but… he can’t. He won’t. 

He isn’t that guy, no matter how hard he tries to exude an ice queen exterior. 

There’s really only one thing to do. He opens his mouth and sings.

The song comes naturally. Not the Elton John or showtunes he’d always imagined himself singing in this situation, but instead, _As the World Falls Down._

David Bowie always knows the right melody for the situation, even if Kurt feels like he’s betraying the drama of the situation by using a song featured in a movie about goblins. He sings his way right up to the stage, till he’s standing there in front of Jesse, till he’s pleading with someone else’s words and hoping beyond hope that Jesse understands.

He finishes. There are no fireworks, no kiss, no laughter and applause by back-up dancers. It’s just him and Jesse standing on a stage.

“I was scared,” he confesses.

“I tried to sabotage us,” Jesse says. “The whole Rachel’s house thing. I didn’t like how much I liked you.”

“I didn’t expect it,” Kurt agrees. “I… I kind of had ulterior motives. Revenge,” he clarifies. 

Jesse twists his lips wryly. “Funny how easy it is for those things to feel real.”

“Funny,” Kurt agrees. He reaches out and takes Jesse’s hand. “But I’d like to give us a chance at something real.”

Jesse gives him a measuring look. “Why didn’t you wait until after we went to Nationals? That’s what I would have done.”

“Because then you’d never really know if I meant it or not,” Kurt says. “But now you know. I don’t care about that. I… I like you, and I want to find out if we could be something real.”

Jesse squeezes his hand tight. “And you decided to show that through the Goblin King’s creepy pedo love song?”

Kurt shrugs with a smile. “I could pick apart the tragic-romance imagery associated with ‘November Rain’ if you’d like.”

Jesse lets out a real, human laugh and kisses Kurt.

Kurt holds him tight and doesn’t let him go.

*

“We can’t tell anyone,” they both say in unison, later when their hair is mussed and they’re sprawled in the cushy red velvet VIP seats in Carmel High’s auditorium. Kurt’s legs are tossed over Jesse’s lap, and there’s a slow, languid feeling of contentment deep in his belly, even though they haven’t done much more than kiss. Jesse’s coat is tossed carelessly on the floor.

“Wait,” Jesse says. “You don’t want anyone to know, either?”

“Don’t be bitchy about it, you want the same thing,” Kurt pre-emptively says. He doesn’t want any other misunderstandings interfering with awesome make outs.

“Why?” Jesse looks sincerely curious. It’s still odd seeing expressions on his face that aren’t ‘ominous glare’ or ‘insipid smile’. Kurt wonders if he’ll ever get used to it.

“You first.”

Jesse shrugs. “I don’t want them to know why I flubbed today. They see weakness, they’ll go for the throat.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow. 

Jesse grimaces. “I know I’m the most talented and all, and this is my last year, but there’s a good chance that I’m going to be competing against some of these people at the collegiate level, not to mention professionally, and I have to consider that.”

Kurt blinks. He has plans to get out of Ohio, of course, but he never really takes into account what from his teen years could be used against him in the future. He hopes that no one in his future metropolitan life finds out about the dumpsterings. “That’s hardcore.”

“Yes,” Jesse agrees. He flicks Kurt’s kneecap playfully. “Your turn.”

“Well,” Kurt says. “Um. There’s no real graceful way to say this, but I want my teammates to think that I’m still a double agent seducing you for the greater cause of revenge, and that the absence of my wiles failed to make you falter at Nationals, rather than letting them know that I couldn’t stand to have you mad at me for two weeks.”

Now Jesse’s eyebrow is raised.

“I have a reputation to uphold,” Kurt says defensively. “I’m an ice queen!”

Jesse snorts.

Kurt can feel his cheeks going pink. “I have poise and grace out the wazoo, dammit.”

“I think the use of the word ‘wazoo’ just proved my point,” Jesse says. He leans in and kisses Kurt, and Kurt’s cheeks are pinker than ever when he pulls away. “I do want to know one thing.”

“Anything,” Kurt says dreamily.

“Who’d you make out with? All the boys in your glee club are so very straight,” Jesse says, a bit mournfully.

“Puck,” Kurt admits.

Jesse looks impressed. “How’d you manage that?”

“Santana arranged it. She’s an evil temptress,” Kurt explains. “Apparently it’s not gay if there’s a girl-on-girl payoff at the end.”

“Not boy-on-boy?” 

“Do you _want_ a threesome with Puck?” Kurt asks, voice squeaking a bit. 

“Just a thought!” Jesse raises his hands as if to fend off the waves of disapproval Kurt is radiating. (Though, okay, secretly the idea makes its way into Kurt’s mental fantasy closet.)

“I think we should work on twosomes first,” Kurt says with a smirk. 

“I am completely down with that idea,” Jesse says, leaning over and hooking a finger in Kurt’s belt loop. “Though I don’t think you’re a very effective double agent.”

“What?” Kurt is flummoxed. “I am the very image of an effective double agent.”

“You just told me you were a double agent,” Jesse points out. “Twice.”

Kurt makes a face. “I could secretly be a triple or quadruple agent, you don’t know.”

“Again with the telling,” Jesse says. He’s playing with Kurt’s waistband now, having pushed Kurt’s brocade jacket aside. It’s very distracting.

“Like you were subtle,” Kurt argues. “I definitely told Rachel you were playing her. There was an intervention and everything.”

“And yet, she still dated me.” Jesse is unreasonably smug. Kurt isn’t sure if it’s because he got Rachel Berry to make out with him, or if it’s because he’s unbuttoned Kurt’s pants. Kurt has a very strong opinion on which it should be, however.

“Hardly an accomplishment,” Kurt says, voice catching as Jesse’s hand dips lower. The angle is awkward, and Kurt grabs Jesse’s suspenders and tugs him closer. It takes a moment and some rearranging of limbs, but soon they’re crushed together in a really excellent way.

Really excellent.

Really, really excellent. Kurt never wants to leave this auditorium. He thinks that he could live and die happily right here in this auditorium, just so long as Jesse’s right there pressed against him just like that.

Jesse’s hand officially reaches virgin territory, and Kurt’s hips buck completely of their own accord. He moans, and it echoes loudly through the auditorium.

“Excellent acoustics in here,” Jesse says. He’s got that evil little smirk on his face, the one that Kurt finds as insufferable as it is hot, and Kurt bites his lip to keep another moan from escaping when Jesse strokes him. 

“Could be better,” Kurt manages to say. It’s ridiculously hard to concentrate on, well, anything beyond his own dick and, by extension, Jesse’s hand, which is absolutely _on_ his dick, and Kurt kind of thinks this is the greatest moment in history. No hand has ever felt better on any dick than Jesse’s on his. 

This could be because the only hand Kurt’s ever had on his dick – in fact, the only hand he had expected to have on his dick until he graduated and left Ohio – is his own, and it turns out that having someone else in on the action does, in fact, make it better. A lot better. 

It’s like comparing a knock-off Gucci bag to the real thing. Sure, the knock-off will still serve the basic functions of a bag, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the real deal.

Kurt realizes he’s in danger of coming in his pants, and says, “Wait, wait,” managing to push his pants further down without Jesse letting go, and Jesse begins to laugh when he realizes what Kurt’s doing.

“Hush, I want to be able to look my dry-cleaner in the eye,” Kurt replies.

“I’m sure he’s seen worse,” Jesse says, shoulders still shaking a little as he gets a better angle. Kurt’s too far gone to continue to argue, and moments later he’s coming, hips stuttering up against Jesse as his eyes flutter closed contentedly.

After about three seconds of bliss, Jesse pokes him on the shoulder. “Hey, don’t leave me hanging.”

“Mmm,” Kurt replies.

“Seriously, I will wipe my hand all over that jacket,” Jesse threatens, and Kurt’s eyes pop open.

“That’s below the belt,” Kurt grumbles while unbuckling Jesse’s.

“That’s the idea,” Jesse says. He’s pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and fastidiously wipes his hand off now that threats are no longer necessary. Bastard. 

Giving a handjob is pretty much what Kurt’s always imagined, in that it’s like doing himself in reverse without all the fun sensations. He has to admit that he’s still feeling pretty awesome and that the tiny noises Jesse makes completely make it worth it. 

Afterwards, Kurt having snagged the already-soiled handkerchief to guard his jacket’s maidenly honor, he curls up against Jesse, staring up at the lights above the stage.

“Clandestine meet-ups until after Nationals?” Jesse suggests. Kurt looks down and can see the corner of his scarf, the one that he’d left in Jesse’s car during the break-up debacle, sticking out of the inside pocket.

“Go, go, secret love affair,” Kurt cheers quietly.

*

“Here’s your list,” Brittany bounces up to him and says at school the next day.

He takes one look at the proffered piece of paper, feels his face go very, very warm, and shoves it in his pocket. “Thanks. I think.”

“Some involve girl parts, but you can just work around that,” Brittany says seriously. Kurt dimly remembers agreeing to her making a list for him, but he hadn’t expected her to go through with it. Or to illustrate it.

“I can,” he agrees gamely. 

“Santana wants to know when you’re breaking up with Jesse,” Brittany whispers. 

Perversely, now that Kurt has hooked up with Jesse, he feels like it’s perfectly acceptable to share the now-false news of their impending breakup. “Tonight,” he says, because, excellent, valid reason for him to go out with Jesse.

“You should do number four first,” Brittany says sagely before cheerily flouncing off down the hallway.

Kurt sneaks a peek at number four. He really, really agrees.

*

He’s halfway to Spanish class when Rachel Berry grabs him by the arm and drags him into the girl’s room. 

“It’s working,” she says, delighted. “Jesse St James is reportedly off his game! The blogs were buzzing last night.”

Kurt smiles wanly. “Of course he is.”

“You aren’t happy,” she says. “Oh my god, you really do like him, you skank.”

“I am not a skank!” Kurt protests. “You of all people should understand how appealing he is. But it’s all academic,” he adds quickly. “I would never secretly date him while pretending that I was still broken up with him. That’s ridiculous. That’s something a crazy person would do.”

He’s turned into _Rachel Berry_. Jesse St. James clearly has been sneaking him mind-altering drugs. Probably via his lips.

Rachel narrows her eyes at him and pulls out her phone. A second later he’s got an angry finger jabbed into his chest. “The blogs all say there was a marked improvement in Jesse’s performance today! You slut!”

Kurt is not a slut. He’s pretty sure they had the requisite three dates already. At least, he’s spoken to Jesse outside of Glee-related events at least three times, which is really the same thing. “There have been no slutty activities,” he lies.

Rachel purses her lip. She obviously doesn’t believe him. “You couldn’t have waited two weeks?”

“Do you really want your mom to lose her last Nationals competition?” Kurt fires back.

Rachel sighs. “Well. Who all knows?”

“Just you,” Kurt admits. “I’m afraid to tell Mercedes. She’s unforgiving.”

“You just fear for Jesse’s windshield,” Rachel says.

“It’s valid,” Kurt replies. A couple of freshman girls enter the bathroom, give them dirty looks, and stalk out again. Kurt stares after them. “And seriously, did they think we were having inappropriate relations?”

Rachel laughs. “You are apparently irresistible.”

“You aren’t mad, are you?” Kurt wouldn’t care if she was, but… she’s being awfully nice.

Rachel sighs. “No. I love Finn, and, as complimentary as our voices are, I know that he will never be true competition for me on a professional level and thus our relationship has a solid grounding. Any relationship with Jesse would have been too fraught with competitive angst.”

“Well,” Kurt says, glad that he’s never been the focus of Rachel’s terrifying heart. “In that case, I can tell you that I have a date with Jesse tonight. Santana thinks I’m breaking up with him, so that means everyone will think that the relationship is over.”

“When really you’re embarking on a secret, torrid love affair with your supposed enemy? How romantic!” Rachel sighs.

Kurt agrees with Rachel. It’s disconcerting.

*

Kurt picks Jesse up this time, even though Jesse makes annoyed sounds at being forced to leave his car behind.

“It’ll be fine,” Kurt assures him and motions grandly at the expansive backseat of his SUV. “Look at how roomy my baby is.”

Jesse acquiesces to the awesomeness of Kurt’s ride. Kurt, satisfied, pulls away from Jesse’s house and takes them to Breadsticks, because, despite the overall lameness of the restaurant, it’s really the only place to take a date in Lima.

“Oh, subpar Italian cuisine,” Jesse sighs, “how I will forever associate you with backseat make-outs.”

Kurt elbows Jesse, because it’s not like he can stage an elaborate musical number for _every_ date. 

They’re seated in a corner next to a large potted plant. Kurt would complain about being marginalized but it’s kind of awesomely private, and there’s no one nearby to give him the stink-eye when he plays footsie with Jesse. 

“So certain parties think that this is a breakup dinner,” Kurt says. “So this’ll be our last public date until after Nationals.”

“I thought they thought we were already broken up?” Jesse says idly.

“Well,” Kurt begins, then takes a deep breath. “Santana set me up with the whole making out with Puck thing and out of spite I couldn’t let her know that we did break up, but I told Mercedes and everyone, so while Mercedes and the rest of glee think we’re broken up, I have to convince Santana that we’re breaking up tonight so that when you win at Nationals I don’t get swirlies from cranky Cheerios over punking out on my attempt to send you into a heartbroken despair.”

“I see,” Jesse says. “You’re a total bitch.” He pokes at a breadstick. “You know, for being the restaurant’s namesake, these breadsticks are terrible.”

If Jesse tries to start a breadstick swordfight, Kurt is leaving.

Kurt realizes that this is their first chance at conversing like boyfriends. His palms automatically get damp and his mind goes a little blank. That’s when he hears the sound of Mr. Schue’s voice.

He twists in his seat and there, on the other side of the plant Kurt was so happy to be hidden behind, is Mr. Schue, sitting across from Bryan Ryan.

“Oh my god,” he hisses, and completely regrets not wearing a fedora that he could pull down over his face and prevent Mr. Schue from recognizing him.

Jesse squints over at the table. “This has the potential for awkwardness.”

“Only if they spot us,” Kurt says and changes the subject. “What are your goals and aspirations?”

“I gave that speech my second day in New Directions,” Jesse answers calmly. “Why did you want to date me?”

“Revenge,” Kurt says airily. “Also you’re cute, and talented, and I was curious if you actually were a robot.”

“Am I?” 

“I’m still researching,” Kurt says.

At the next table over, Mr. Schue and Bryan Ryan start laughing about magic flowers. Kurt doesn’t like where that’s heading. He emphatically does not want to see anything that will scar his retinas. They are vital to his future as a member of the glitterati. He hisses as much to Jesse, who seems entirely too amused.

“I’ll give you magic flowers,” Jesse promises grandly, and Kurt kicks him under the table. And he’s wearing pointy loafers, so he knows he probably left a bruise.

It’s too late, though. Byran Ryan is peering through the foliage of the plant, and he beams when he spots Jesse. “Young Mr. St. James!” he says effervescently. 

“Crusher of dreams,” Kurt greets him. He’d had Carol-sized plans for that bedazzled denim jacket, dammit.

Mr. Schue looks extremely awkward. “Hello there.” He runs a hand through his hair.

The waitress chooses that moment to return. “Oh, is this a family meal?” she asks, looking between the two tables.

She gets four very decisive “No!”s in response.

“We’d like a minute, please,” Jesse says, smiling. The waitress shrugs and wanders off.

“On a date, Mr. Schue?” Kurt asks, primarily because he likes being evil. It’s payback for all the ridiculous things Mr. Schue puts him through on a weekly basis. His taste is impeccable and, frankly, Mr. Schue’s is horrific.

“What? No! Of course not!” Mr. Schue knocks over his water.

“Really? Because it looks like a date,” Jesse says blandly. 

Kurt’s head is spinning with all the fun that he and Jesse are going to have when they unleash their combined bitchiness on the unsuspecting universe. He gazes at Jesse admiringly. 

“We’re talking community theatre,” Bryan Ryan says. “Something neither of you know anything about.”

“I’ve spent the past few summers in New York doing off-Broadway performances,” Jesse replies casually.

Bryan Ryan’s eyes appear to have turned into hearts. Kurt glares at Jesse. He will never get to make out with him if they’ve got Bryan Ryan trailing after them asking about Jesse’s off-Broadway experiences.

“He’s kidding,” Kurt tells Bryan Ryan quickly. “Really. You should go back to your not at all creepy man date.”

“It’s not a date!” Mr. Schue says again. 

“Of course it is,” Bryan Ryan replies. “I made flowers appear for you!”

“Flowers make it official,” Kurt says wisely.

Jesse grins and plucks the limp rose out of the plastic vase on the table. “Was that a hint?” he asks, offering the rose to Kurt.

Kurt accepts it gingerly. A wilted petal falls to the tablecloth.

He catches Jesse’s eye. Jesse winks, and Kurt takes a quick sniff of the rose, crinkling his nose. “The living embodiment of our relationship smells terrible. I can’t accept this.”

“But it _symbolizes our love_ ,” Jesse protests, clutching at his heart.

Kurt _hmphs_ and disdainfully drops the rose. “If your love is as cheap and tawdry as this, then I want no part of it.”

Mr. Schue and Bryan Ryan’s eyes are glued to them, and Kurt feels the warm glow that he always gets during a performance that’s going well. Jesse nudges him under the table and then announces, “Then I want no part of you!”

He gets up and storms out of Breadsticks. Kurt sighs dramatically. “Never accept mediocre flowers,” he tells Mr. Schue, and leaves.

Jesse is waiting for him outside the restaurant, and he takes his arm grandly. 

“The news of our timely break-up will have spread by first period tomorrow,” Kurt says. “Mr. Schue is a gossip whore.”

“Really?” Jesse raises an eyebrow skeptically.

“Well, only somewhat, but for reasons I try not to analyze he’ll undoubtedly mention it to Coach Sylvester, who will then congratulate Santana on perpetuating her feud with Olivia Newton-John.”

“When did I become representative of Olivia Newton-John?” Jesse wonders.

“I’ve learned to never question the might and whimsy of one Sue Sylvester,” Kurt assures him. “Just accept it.”

“You do realize this is all stupidly overwrought and dramatic?” Jesse asks, leading him towards the exit.

“Of course,” Kurt replies gamely. “It’s _high school._.”

*

Kurt definitely did not insist on driving solely so that he could ensure that they didn’t end up back in front of Rachel Berry’s house.

That is simply one of many advantages, right up there with the roominess of his back seat. 

Jesse’s working on unbuckling Kurt’s belt when he notices the piece of paper sticking out of Kurt’s pocket and pulls it out with a flourish. Kurt is very, very glad that it’s dark because he’s absolutely turning red.

“What’s this? Nefarious plots to overthrow the enemy?” Jesse says, unfolding the paper and squinting at it in the dark. 

“Nope, nothing, just some class notes I forgot about,” Kurt says quickly.

Jesse flips on the overhead light and blinks a few times as Brittany’s list of dating suggestions becomes visible. “What does a unicorn mean?” he asks, tilting his head.

“I’m not sure,” Kurt says. “I think,” and he gestures towards his crotch region.

“Ironic,” Jesse muses. 

“Brittany foisted that on me,” Kurt says, realizing that Jesse doesn’t have any back story on the list whatsoever. “She and Santana were recruited as my sex coaches and that was her idea of helping.”

“It’s certainly helpful,” Jesse says. “Number four looks awesome.”

Kurt resolves to buy Brittany a really awesome present.

*

Sure enough, the next day Santana plops her tray down at Kurt’s lunch table. “Good work.”

Everyone else nods their approval. Kurt feels like the biggest betrayer to ever betray. He is the Benedict Arnold of William McKinley High. If the cafeteria was the Roman forum, he would be shoving a knife in Rachel Berry’s back while she yelled “Et tu, Kurt!” and collapsed in an over-acted heap of ketchup and broken dreams.

Mercedes misreads his guilt as despair. She pats his hand. “You can fix things just as soon as Jesse is taken down at Nationals.”

“Don’t you think our revenge is perhaps misguided?” Kurt asks hopefully.

Everyone shakes their heads.

“I mean,” Kurt tries again, “wouldn’t the best revenge be for us to have been taken down by the national champs, not a runner up?”

Brittany looks at him suspiciously. “Number four?”

Kurt turns red while everyone else assumes Brittany is getting caught up in national rankings. Brittany beams at him. He gives her a subtle thumbs-up.

*

After their next date, Kurt decides that both Brittany and Puck deserve thank-you cards.

Brittany grins and pins hers up in her locker.

Puck gives him a puzzled face, Kurt makes a kissy face in reply, and Puck gives him a noogie, though it feels good-natured.

*

Kurt is _awesome_ at navigating the sneaky waters of illicit love. He should be the captain of the Secret Love Boat. Granted, he was unsubtle enough about Finn that the entire universe – including _Finn_ \-- figured it out, but he’s learned things since then. So he’s pretty sure that everyone thinks that he’s contemplating the glory of his destruction of Vocal Adrenaline when he stares dreamily at thin air, instead of thinking about all the amazing things that he and Jesse will get to do when they see each other next.

Though, with Vocal Adrenaline’s increasingly insane training schedule, Kurt’s beginning to think that he will probably only get to see Jesse after Nationals, which are now an entire week and a half away. Kurt kind of realizes why Jesse thinks New Directions are a joke. 

He sighs. Beside him, Mercedes looks up from doodling little stars on the margin of her trig notes to raise an eyebrow at him.

She deliberately writes _lovesick puppy_ in between the stars on her notes. Kurt gives her his best bitch-glare. She grins like that proves something. Which it doesn’t. 

He is not mooning over the boyfriend he _already has_.

*

Kurt absolutely lost this round of revenge-seduction.

He came so close! But he just had to cave and reunite with Jesse when he saw how downtrodden he was. Now he’s stuck pretending like he didn’t cave while still having to moon over Jesse because his stupid boyfriend is spending all his time practicing for the Nationals that Kurt didn’t even want him to win in the first place.

He sighs.

Rachel gives him a sideways glance. She’s two tables over in the library, stacks of songbooks piled around her like a fortress of fabulous.

“It’s all for naught,” he says dramatically. 

Rachel abandons her research and hurries to his table. “I think you’re overreacting.”

Kurt does not overreact. He is just more sensitive than other people. “Incorrect. I played right into his hands.”

Rachel raises an eyebrow. 

“I haven’t seen him in days!” Kurt sighs. “And it’s miserable! He’s off practicing for Nationals and I’m all alone and exactly like I would have been if I’d just let the plan play out like it was supposed to.”

“Except for the fact that you’re dating Jesse,” Rachel points out.

“But I’m not getting any,” Kurt despairs, flapping his hands to show how much he’s grown to appreciate orgasms.

“Neither is Jesse,” Rachel points out. “Assuming, of course, that he’s chosen to be monogamous to you.”

“Of course he has.” Kurt is insulted that she would suggest otherwise.

Rachel looks smug. “So, in effect, your plot to distract Jesse is still working, because the increased libido drive involved in a burgeoning relationship is undoubtedly driving him just as crazy as it’s driving you. Sex can be just as distracting as heartbreak, you know. I’ve done research with literally hundreds of romance movies, plays and novels.”

“That’s a dreadful sweater,” he tells her. She beams at him.

*

Kurt surreptitiously logs onto Jacob Ben Israel’s blog.

Rachel is totally right. Jesse is off his game. Jesse isn’t performing at one hundred percent because he’s _distracted by the lack of Kurt’s dick in his life._

Kurt is so fucking awesome.

*

He makes it through a week of this, sighing and getting mockery from Mercedes while pining for his stupid workaholic boyfriend who barely even answers texts, he’s so busy learning choreography.

Before he knows it, it’s the night before Nationals, and he can’t stand it anymore. He drives to Carmel High School, then has a minor freak out in the parking lot and drives to a nearby Dairy Queen instead. He calls Jesse at precisely 1:01 in the morning, because he knows Vocal Adrenaline’s late-night practice session ends at one. 

Jesse sounds out of breath when he answers. It’s ridiculously hot. Kurt sighs a little, then remembers his mission. “I have to see you.”

There’s a pause. “My flight leaves in five hours.” 

“I’ll be there in five minutes,” Kurt says. “Do you want ice cream?”

Jesse laughs. “Just don’t let anyone here see you. They’re… peeved.”

Kurt arrives in precisely five minutes, and Jesse hops into his SUV, accepting the proffered Blizzard gracefully. 

“I’m on a restricted diet,” he says, licking ice cream off the plastic spoon in a manner that was probably only obscene in Kurt’s mind. “This is heavenly.”

“I’ve missed you,” Kurt bursts out with. “And I remembered how nervous I was before Cheerios Nationals, knowing that my performance of the Celine Dion medley would either make or break us, and I just… I wanted you to know I believe in you.”

Jesse smiles his stage-smile. “Thanks.”

Kurt waits on him to say something else, and he doesn’t. “Really? That’s it?”

“What would you like for me to say?” Jesse replies. 

Kurt recognizes this Jesse. This is robotic, uncaring Jesse. He narrows his eyes. “Did Shelby give you some funny-tasting kool-aid, by any chance?”

Jesse sets his Blizzard down in the nearest cup holder. “I haven’t been performing at my best. Shelby would be right to alter my outlook.”

“Oh god, they reprogrammed you,” Kurt exclaims. “I knew I shouldn’t have let them sink their claws back into you.”

“I am not a goddamn robot!” Jesse snaps. His hair falls becomingly into his eyes. “This is my final shot,” he says, a little desperately. “My last high school year! And I know I’m the best, and I need to prove that to the world.”

“You have proven that,” Kurt says. “Three times, going on four.”

“But this time feels different,” Jesse says. “I feel… I feel guilty.”

That is not what Kurt expected Jesse to say. “What?”

“I’ve already won three times,” Jesse says. “And if I’d stayed with New Directions, I could have won a fourth, except in a way that actually meant something.”

Kurt blinks.

“Vocal Adrenaline is a machine of perfection and excellence,” Jesse says, “but I think having helped an underdog team achieve greatness would have made for a far better impression on the collegiate level.”

Kurt mentally translates this statement. “You miss us. Not just me, but… all of us.”

Jesse slumps down in his seat. “That’s not what I said. My version was far more pragmatic and less touchy-feely.”

“But you meant it!” Kurt can’t stop grinning at Jesse. He probably looks like a maniac. “You miss being a real boy!”

“I’m real with Vocal Adrenaline,” Jesse says wryly. “We’re not actually cyborgs. But… we’re also not close. And it’s a little lonely.”

It’s obviously like pulling teeth to get the sentences out, but Jesse keeps talking. “That’s why I went after you, you know. I mean, I remembered how bitchy you are, but still, I knew you wouldn’t fuck me over like my teammates here, because you all are softer. You know what it’s like to lose.” He says it with wonder, as though losing is a mythical dream that he can’t quite envision.

“I am not soft,” Kurt begins, nobly ignoring Jesse’s snort. “But I don’t know a lot about winning. This year is the first time I’ve been anything close to accepted, and to be honest winning Nationals with the Cheerios still kind of feels like a dream.” He pauses. “But I still tried to fuck you over, you know. Losers tend to have pent-up rage.”

“And yet, here you are,” Jesse says. 

Kurt hates that he has a point, so he sniffs and says, “I could just be here to distract you. With my wiles. I have wiles, you know.”

Jesse laughs and leans over and kisses him. His hand brushes against Kurt’s jaw, tracing along until he curls it around Kurt’s neck. He tastes sweet like the ice cream Kurt bought him, and Kurt sighs happily into the kiss.

“Very distracting,” Jesse agrees when they pull apart, then dives back in for another kiss, this one longer and more intense.

It’s only been a week since they last made out, but Kurt’s already feeling like he’s on fire, the way he can feel Jesse’s kisses all the way down to his toes.

“I hope you win,” Kurt manages to say as he’s pulling Jesse closer by his suspenders.

“Already there,” Jesse replies distractedly. Kurt’s goofy grin is not one of the seven faces Santana had approved for sexy times, but he really can’t help it.

Jesse doesn’t seem to mind.

*

Kurt spends the wait for Nationals to begin obsessively checking his phone. He knows that Jesse won’t have much time to text updates, but Kurt is somewhat desperate to know how his boyfriend is doing.

At lunch Mercedes physically wrestles his phone away. “You need to stop,” she says firmly.

Half of the glee club is clustered around the table, and they all take a keen interest in Kurt.

“But I have to know!” Kurt’s voice only sounds like he’s whining; he’s really completely calm, cool and collected.

Mercedes tucks his phone into her purse. “You will find out, sweetie. Then you can go kiss and make up.”

Kurt literally had forgotten that his friends didn’t know about the make-up. His acting classes have completely paid off. He gazes longingly at Mercedes’ handbag, for once coveting its contents rather than the bag itself.

Quinn raises an eyebrow at him. “Sweetie, you broke up. He’s not going to text you.”

“He could,” Kurt says after a pause.

Santana narrows her eyes at him. “Why would he?” she asks, suspicion tingeing her voice.

“Because he promised to?” Kurt says in a tiny voice.

Artie takes a bite of his sandwich. “Why would he promise… oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Mercedes snaps. Kurt surreptitiously checks to make sure there are no projectiles laying about. “When were you planning on telling me about this?”

“After Nationals?” Kurt offers. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

He gets an entire table’s worth of skeptical eyebrows. 

“Really!” he protests. “Just. You know. I went to see how badly he was doing and he was and it was so sad, you know, like a kicked puppy or something, and… he’s really pretty, okay.”

He’s turning red and knows for a fact that if Jesse could have heard that eloquent speech, he would be laughing his ass off.

“But what about our revenge?” Tina asks.

“Fuck revenge, what about my spot as head Cheerio?” Santana demands.

Kurt could dimly remember the days when he dreamed of being the center of attention. It turns out that it’s not quite as awesome as he envisioned. There is no escape, so Kurt does what Kurt does best: resorts to bitchiness. He looks down his nose at Santana and announces, “Guess you’ll just have to find someone else to exploit.”

Santana rolls her eyes. “You were going to pussy out. I just helped it along.”

“Yes, well,” Kurt says, “I can orchestrate my own break-ups, thank you very much.”

Mercedes purses her lips at him. “So when did you un-break up with Jesse?”

Kurt waves his hand airily. “A few days ago.” 

“You really couldn’t wait?” Tina says skeptically. 

Kurt sighs. “He was charming and sad. It was a lethal combination.”

Brittany twirls her gum around her fingertip. “Did you wear him out with sex before he went?”

Kurt turns bright red and refuses to answer.

“Well, at least there’s that,” Santana says pragmatically.

Mercedes sighs and gives him back his phone. “The least you could do is send him ridiculously hot sexts so that he’s completely flustered when he goes on stage.”

“Okay,” Kurt agrees. 

“Tell him that the make-out train is coming his way!” Artie suggests.

“Don’t,” everyone else at the table choruses. Kurt pretends to agree, then carefully sends, _artie wants you to know the make-out train is headed in your direction._

It wouldn’t hurt to have Jesse a _little_ flustered when he performs.

*

Predictably, Jesse wins Nationals.

Kurt chooses to focus on that aspect rather than the fact that Vocal Adrenaline won. Jesse is a completely separate being from his annoyingly perfect trope, and Kurt is determined to be happy for him.

It’s remarkably easy, especially when he sees the way Jesse’s lit up when he returns, glowing with happiness and smiling a bright, real smile as he pushes past the crowd at the airport and wraps Kurt up in a full-body hug followed by a toe-curling kiss.

The rest of Vocal Adrenaline are completely within sight, and Kurt realizes that Jesse’s done with them now, that Jesse is his and his alone.

If he flips Vocal Adrenaline off behind Jesse’s back as they kiss, well. Nothing wrong with that.

*

“Oh god, how does my hair look?” Kurt asks Finn frantically. He got so distracted with his moisture routine – his pores are _gigantic_ , he’s been slacking, clearly – that he didn’t realize that it was almost time for dinner.

“Fine?” Finn says. His look clearly says that Kurt is being a moron, which is all the more insulting coming from someone who thought he could impregnate a girl via hot tub.

“Fine is not good enough!” Kurt wails, returning to his vanity. Finn is right, Kurt realizes, his hair is just _fine_. It’s completely bland, just sitting there on top of his head. Maybe he should add a hat. He has a pretty amazing one with a tiny lace veil he picked up at the thrift store in Columbus. The roses would probably clash with his waistcoat, though. He smoothes an errant hair down frantically while running through his options.

“Kurt, your eyes are about to bug out of your head,” Mercedes announces as she descends the staircase into the basement. “Stop whatever you’re thinking about.”

“Do you think a cloche hat would do?” he asks. “I think I have one.”

“No,” Mercedes says decisively. “You would look like a drunken Prohibitioner. Oxymoronic.”

Finn blinks a few times, and Kurt glares. “My hair looks _fine_ ,” he despairs.

“Yeah,” Mercedes agrees, nodding.

“Fine!” Kurt says again, waving his hands to show the depth of his angst. “It is bland! Mediocre! Subpar!”

“Boy, you need to step off the crazy train,” Mercedes replies. “You look fantastic, and you don’t need a crazy-ass hat to make Jesse notice you. At dinner. At your house.”

“He’s never had dinner here before,” Kurt says in a tiny voice. “What if Dad doesn’t like him? What if he doesn’t like Dad? It is a disaster waiting to happen. Mercedes, why did you allow me to do this?”

“It’ll be fine,” Mercedes says in her most calming voice. “Burt will love Jesse. Well. Burt will like Jesse more than he likes Rachel!”

“Oh god, what if they decide to duet at the dinner table,” Kurt realizes. He turns to Finn. “You are not allowed to let Rachel sing. Not one note!”

“Yeah, I’m not going to be able to stop her if she decides there’s a song in her heart,” Finn says. “Could you stop Jesse?”

“Damn your logical argument,” Kurt replies. He takes one last look in the mirror. “Are you sure I look okay?”

“You look gorgeous,” Mercedes promises him. “Upstairs with you!”

Kurt can hear Finn asking, “Why are you at our family dinner?” as they start up the stairs. Mercedes’ snap of, “I’m a sister, aren’t I?” shuts him up and makes Kurt laugh and turn around and give her a hug.

“Closest I’ve got,” Kurt murmurs to her, and her grin alleviates the worst of his angst.

When they get upstairs, Mercedes leads Finn to the kitchen – obstinately to help Carol finish dinner – while Kurt ducks into the living room to check up on his dad. 

“Hey, kiddo,” Burt says cheerfully, patting the couch beside him. He’s wearing a nicer plaid shirt, cotton instead of flannel, and Kurt appreciates the gesture.

“Hi,” Kurt says, perching nervously on the edge of the couch. He watches approximately four seconds of _Pinks_ before blurting out, “Are you okay with tonight? Meeting Jesse and all?”

Burt sighs. “Do you really have to ask that?”

“I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Kurt says. He’s practically wringing his hands. Maybe if his dad wants to cancel, then the evening doesn’t have to happen and then he won’t have to fret.

Burt grins wryly. “I’m not going to say I’m comfortable with my son getting himself tied up in knots over anyone. I don’t want your heart getting broken. But that’s all that I’m uncomfortable with.” He looks down. “I’m not the best with this kind of stuff, you know that. And I don’t expect you to feel like you can go to Carol with stuff the same way you would have with your mom. But… I’m here for you. She’s here for you, no matter what.”

Kurt beams and hugs his dad tight. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“Pretty much,” Burt agrees. “It comes from having a son like you.”

Kurt pulls away, feeling almost calm. “Jesse can be a bit… abrasive,” Kurt warns. “He’s very… smug.”

Burt looks wary. “He’s not like that Rachel girl, is he?”

“Um,” Kurt says, “he has much better fashion sense?”

Burt sighs. “I’m eating my dessert whether or not anyone’s singing a show tune.”

“Perfectly acceptable,” Kurt agrees. The doorbell rings and he tenses up until he hears the sound of Rachel’s voice floating in from the foyer.

“You’re really worked up about this!” Burt says, and Kurt immediately claims he isn’t. Burt laughs. “I used to get all worked up, too. You should have seen me fret before I brought Carol home for dinner that first night.”

Kurt rolls his eyes but can’t help the grin that’s spread across his face. “You are such a dork.”

“Watch out, that’s inherited,” Burt replies. Kurt settles back into the couch and watches a drag race on TV with his dad, making the appropriate appreciative sounds about various engines and nitrous options until the doorbell rings again.

Burt pushes him lightly, saying, “Go get it.”

Kurt hurries to the door, flinging it open. Jesse stands there, dramaticand dashing in black.

“Sorry about Rachel being here,” Kurt says quickly, before Jesse has a chance to do anything romantic.

“As long as she doesn’t try to exact revenge on me,” Jesse says with a smarmy grin, then offers Kurt a single red rose. 

Kurt accepts it with a grin. “I’m not tossing this one out,” he warns, and Jesse replies, “I hope not. Symbol of my love and all that jazz.”

Kurt’s into his arms before he can stop himself, and the kiss is sweet and soft and makes Kurt feel like the heroine in an old-time movie, getting kissed by his love as the end credits roll past. And it intensifies and he feels more like Scarlett O’Hara, getting kissed the way he ought to be kissed by his dashing Rhett Butler. Time stops for a moment, and Kurt could live in this instant forever.

He can hear his family inside, getting dinner ready, and as he pulls away, he keeps Jesse’s hand clamped tightly within his own. “Come inside,” he says. “I want you to meet my family.”

“Just a minute,” Jesse says, and kisses him again.

Kurt’s hair is no longer perfect, but he doesn’t care.


End file.
